Some people may know from Twitter, that my grandma and granddad are now in care. My grandma has been in a home for a few years now, but my granddad is scheduled to go into a nursing home very soon, which means that I will no longer be looking after him physically. It will be someone else’s job. This is yet another transitioning period for me.
Of course, I will be going to see him still. He is being placed in a nursing home that is specialist in looking after for people with dementia. He now needs 24/7 care, because he is unable to care for himself. He is now incontinent too and his health is declining. I was 18 when my grandma went into a care home, now I have to go through the same with my granddad at the age of 20. I still haven’t got used to the fact that my grandma is being looked after by other people, so this is yet another thing to ‘get used to’.
I knew that it was going to happen, but not this soon. As many of you may know my grandparent’s brought me up and then I began caring for them, re-paying the favour, if you will. Now we can’t care for my granddad, so someone else has to. They get paid to look after him and some care workers don’t like their job. I did not get paid for looking after my granddad, I would not dream of it and I love it. Or should I say loved it.
It hurts talking in the past tense. It is like the war is over. The war that me and my family have been fighting for so long is now over. Me and my family have lost, but for a good cause. He needs proper care, care that we can’t provide him anymore. We have our own lives, lives that are taking shape for some of us.
He won’t be in the same home as my grandma unfortunately, for safeguarding reasons. They’ve drifted apart anyway. He doesn’t remember who she is and because of my grandma’s brain damage she ‘doesn’t care’. When they are together though, which is very rare, they act like they did when they were younger. Like lovebirds.
When the house is sold, there are many things that I would like from it. My soft toys being the most important and the photos so I can make a memory box for them. The war may be over, but there is still a lot of shrapnel. Shrapnel that is 100% worth keeping. My whole childhood is in that house, the day I became a carer is in that house…most of my pleasant memories are in that house. There are photos of me when I was little in my grandparent’s arms, this is something they will remember. They won’t remember when I graduate unfortunately. The war is over physically, but mentally too, I guess.
Imagine losing your grandparent’s to old age, to ill-health and to dementia. Losing a piece of them each day. Bit by bit. So they don’t remember anything, can’t walk or talk like they did before…I could go on.
I apologise that this blog post has been a little disjointed, but it is a difficult time right now.