Sometimes death is a welcome relief for the dying and the survivors. Keep well yourself. A lot of people crash and get sick after having dealt with a family member's death.
I never cried at my dead's death;not because I wasn't sad, because I was. I was more disappointed that I didn't have any more time with him, even if he was sometimes difficult or cantakerous. Some of that was due to the frustration of having to think about every breath he had to take. 13 years is a long time to have to deal with that.
Did you ever see such a messed up situation in your whole life, son?
It is a shame you didn't have a better relationship. I was fortunate that I did spend a lot of time with my father, but it made his passing all the more painful I think. I kept waking in the early morning hours after dreaming that he needed my help to breathe. I think this was because he died whilst I was enroute to the hospital, they only called to say that he was sick and I should come right away. I couldn't have made it if I was on the first floor of the hospital waiting for the call.
Anyway, all that finally stopped when I realised I hadn't been there for his birth, why would I expect to be there when dad died? It just wasn't practical at that time to have been waiting, I did have to work - and at the time seemed to be recovering. The subconscious mind however works in strange way with grief.
Did you ever see such a messed up situation in your whole life, son?
My gran died of probably old age (91) but had severe dementia/alzheimers for about 5 years. She didn't know who I (and most others) was for about 8 years.
It got to the point where I didn't see her because a young guy randomly turning up at her house would only scare her.
She eventually regressed to thinking she was about 15 years old.
The worst of it is that the medical 'profession' looked the other way. Even when he was losing his memory they used fixed/biased assessments to show he was alright ('do you know what day it is today?', 'yes', no follow up to find out what day he really thought it was).
It was only when he forced my mum out of the house at knifepoint and the police and paramedics were called did his GP start to take it seriously. And that's because she was handed emergency response reports with a demand for action.
I'm not totally sure what the care was like from the doctors etc but in the early stages it was my mum who did most of care by seeing her twice a day to make sure she'd taken the right medication, had eaten, washed etc, whilst also doing a 9-5 job. It eventually got to the point where we moved her to Ireland to live with my auntie because she was retired and had a big house with a spare room. The amount of stress that lifted off my mum was incredible.
I really would hate to be that much of a burden to any family member in future.
One of my grans had the whole dementia thing too, I definitely sympathise with anyone going through that.
I have to say there were some funny moments in there, when she was busy chatting to imaginary dogs and telling us about how her and a friend bust out of the care home together to go to town (she couldn't go more than a step unassisted, her friend was wheelchair-bound and had had a stroke, there wasn't much happening there either). But generally, just absolutely horrible in all ways for all concerned. Sympathies to all of you!
bastard by name
