Dementia is horrendous; a personality sapping, reality skewing, dream stealing disease.
For the last eighteen months or so, it has been meandering its insidious way through Homestead life; running its grimy hands over our thoughts, hopes, and plans and leaving its slimy fingerprints on our every-days.
We’ve learnt so much about ourselves and become closer as a family as we’ve negotiated Nana and Grandad’s move from the family home into a Rest Home. Through the process, we’ve shared belly laughs over things that don’t bear retelling – and lots of tears, too – and alliances have been rekindled (shout out to the Dees) that have added a true sparkle to Homestead life.
This foul disease is not gracious and Nana and Grandad are very human in their desire to hit out. Unfortunately, their target has become us; The Homestead. The Bean Counter, their son, is now the only one of us they want to see. We respect that. But, humans that we are, we also feel hurt our care doesn’t count, and angry that our efforts aren’t recognised.
Shamefully, we also feel relief.
The Bean Counter combined the timeless words of William Shakespeare with a super-treat from his younger days, Neenish Tarts, to help assert some objectivity.
He spoke comfortable words.