Thanks everyone. I'm coping well on the whole providing I don't think too much, and there have been some lighthearted moments, such as trying to spell my late father's first names in French on the phone to the mayor's office. She asked me to send it by email in the end in desperation.
Back down to earth for those who want it, mum was breathing very rapidly this morning with the telltale gurgly breathing. OH and I managed to get her up the bed a bit so she could be more upright and less gurgly. Not long after that her breathing changed suddenly from rapid to one every 10 seconds. Was it something I did? I'll never know. All I knew was that I couldn't leave her gurgling. It's an area without definitive answers, after all, who's going to spend much time researching the soon to be deceased?
The thing that's really highlighted my experience of all of this is, does anyone really know what's best?
The key word is ' comfort and every single person will be different, but comfort remains paramount because that, combined with compassion is what one strives towards continuously in this whole dementia journey. You can do no more, as nature takes its course, as with each and every one of us.
And when that journey ends and the mind and heart range emotionally from a sense of relief, to re-living the care and the moments of despair and the precious moments of joy, with a hollow awareness that someone has now actually gone, you will understand the role you played and its true value in caring for another in the manner you did. Despite everything, the sheer challenge such a role sets before you with all the intensity psychologically which bears down upon you, it remains unquestionably a precious moment in one's life. That of giving, that of caring, that of knowing what is right without having to be told. Much as our own mothers did instinctively when we too as vulnerable infants at the very start of our lives, could not have otherwise survived.
With warmest wishes and gratitude for your sharing of your own very special journey.