People say I am strong

I have always been told I am strong - whether it was aged 11 and taking my siblings home from school, and looking after them till Mum or Dad came home from work, or coping with the disabled children I fostered, or just life itself.

But even the strongest of people just want to stop being strong after a while, be it a week, year, or lifetime.

Am I strong? No. I am not.

I have friends who are much stronger than I, who get on with life and its ups and downs, without grumbling like I do, about the unfairness of it all.

What I do try to remember goes back a long, long way. Dad used to tell me about the poverty he saw in India during the war. The teachers at school used to tell us about the poor starving 'black babies' in Africa, and how lucky we were to be brought up in the smog and filth of the industrial northwest, in a house with no bathroom,with no grass, no trees. With grimy neighbours returning from the coal face, and washing strung across the back street.

We were lucky.

And now when I feel the world is against us, and that I do not have time left in my life to make all the wrong things come right for us again, ( not that they ever will) I remind myself of the black babies in Africa, and the beggar children in India, and think that my life is not bad, not bad at all.

My OH or PWD, as I have seen them called on various forums, is sat watching television, as is his way. He never wanted a TV not for years, we did not have one. Clients at work ( remember - I am a genealogist) would say 'Did you see Who Do You Think You Are? last night' and I would airily reply 'No' and watch their astonished faces, before adding 'We do not have a Television.'  In this modern day - no telly!

But we do have one now, thanks to my lovely son who brought a spare one from Scotland. Thank goodness for Tim Wonacott and  Anita Whats her name, and Charles Hanson and all the others who besiege the airwaves with antiques - he watches them endlessly while I try to work. And don't forget Alexander Pointless Armstrong, and who ever it is that does 'Tipping Point.'

Ask him later, what it was about and he does not know.

But, you know, Dementia, is not just about losing your memory...... your memory is bigger than you think, really, it is.  I forget things, you forget things because we have not room in our minds for everything we have ever done or ever learnt. We cast aside the un necessary.

But what happens when you cast aside the necessary as well?

That is the dark side of Dementia, the ugly side, the side we do not see on TV or in the adverts. 'Let's do a Memory Book' or 'Let's sing an old fashioned song' or paint, do jigsaws, or whatever, whatever, whatever.

But what happens when you forget what order your clothes go on? Or what your spoon is for? or how to wash your face? Let's go darker, go deeper, what about when you forget what the toilet is for? Or when a dark rug on the floor, looks to you  like a big hole that you cannot walk over.......

Was it Arnie who said " Be afraid, be very afraid" ???

But there is a new begonia in the garden - not quite up to dear old Monty Don's standard, but it is very pretty, and I will enjoy watching it grow and will also encourage my hoggies to go and eat the slugs, so that it will not spoil!!!