Very kind. Perhaps it evolves out of the very real facts, of which we all speak of here. The individual accounts, the actual relinquishing of a 'normal' life - your own - warrants as meaningful response as is possible to give. We know, those of us who have taken the journey, just what this truly means. Unlike many situations in life which can be seen, often, as quite trite, this complete giving over of body and soul to the person we both love and who has in turn loved and cared for us, condemned cruelly in that all so unforgiving way by dementia, brings about, it seems to me, an awareness of the actual meaning of life, of which we all have just the one. Of course, this always relates to the relationship we have enjoyed with our parents. Alas, I witness people (in Care) who seldom receive visits, for various reasons - but in some cases simply due to the fact that, perhaps, Mum or Dad did not convey the kind of love and care which we were fortunate enough to receive, or simply did not love at all? Then, you enter the realms of compassion and humanity, whereby you simply address the 'here and now', .i.e. despite the history, the person is now totally vulnerable, innocent in respect of this affliction (dementia per se) and thus deserved of both care and love. My late mother was loving, thoughtful, always attentive to others, extraordinary in many ways, an artist, adored children, nature, the sea and seemed to possess an overall sense of goodwill which was not lost on anyone who came into contact with her. So, I was indeed lucky , as a son. Therefore, when the dementia beast comes knocking at the door and you do not recognise it at first, you sense 'old age' and all the familiar traits of same which accompany someone in their mid-nineties, you invite it in, because it is your mother. Then, later on, when the beast reveals itself for what it truly is, that journey we all know about, begins. In that regard, the 'autobiography' inhabits that part of the brain which we term 'memory' and the writing of it, just now, would be a challenge and perhaps a kind of 're-living' - something I am not really prepared to do. And yet, these forums are in their own special way, cathartic. 'Listening' to so many real-life accounts, laid bare and clearly from the heart, from anonymous folk. Really, worth all the texts and neurological treatises, the ongoing researches, medications - all of which we accept as certainly important - by sheer nature of the heartfelt expression of these personal and totally individual accounts of real lives, devoid of ambition, gratification, self-worth and all the rest of it. Thus, I cannot say more than this, in my own particular way. Besides, a 'cry for help' which so often calls out like that of a frightened child, emanating from the many posts we all read on here, is, as we also know, told from the heart. The centre of thoughts, feelings, emotion ... and LOVE.
