Sarah Baldwin

It's nearly the end - or is it the beginning?

Collecting leaves for a fairy garden!

My lovely Grandma, and 72 phone calls

I want to share a bit more about why I am doing this. We all have stories like this, and mine is nothing super special or dramatic, but just as in all families, in its own delicate, uneventful way was meaningful to me. 

My Grandma was small but mighty - imagine a female version of my Dad,  with a cheeky face, a London accent, and someone who loved to squeeze your hand extra tight and sneak you sweets. Famous for regaling how she was ‘engaged thrice, married twice’ (with a wink) and ready to demonstrate the special twirl she did whenever she threw a netball. Obsessed with our little family, ever present, but fiercely fit and independent, she was full of applause at concerts, self-declared had a ‘bit of a temper’, and would indulge us in special notes in swirling writing, "To my dearest Sarah Anne." Without thinking I would buy an extra ticket for her for every school and Uni event – she never missed a moment.

My Grandma developed dementia around 83, it was a gradual decline, followed by a plateau, bringing some false hope, then more serious decline until she died at around 96.

This isn’t all a sad story. For a long time her confusion was hidden behind jokes, fast retorts, scripted answers - and many carers could be fooled, or we would laugh along, and the world she occupied often brought her joy. But the tougher side was  increasingly surfacing -  hundreds of evening  phone calls , thousands of notes, mislaid items, mix ups and anguish we had forgotten her, minutes after we had left. Anger, late night dashes to her house, and a shrinking world – day centres brought confusion, friends were unfamiliar, and later on– mistaking me for her peroxide haired, 60 year old carer.  I felt a latent sadness that things were changing. The strain was there mainly for my parents, keeping up jobs, keeping “it all going” with the phone still ringing night after night. My parents installed a call counter - once it rang 72 times.

We choose not to remember her in this way, instead regaling the stories of her hilarity, of food fights, stubbornness and her wise advice on the “save / spend pennies” in the post. And for some of us – her ability to go ‘marching about’ when she didn’t get her own way!

What seems strange to me, all these years on, is as a healthy woman, who walked everywhere, never drove, ate well and lived a clean life, this seemed to be classed as inevitable.

Is that really right? Do we need to accept it? Maybe so. But as an aging population, I wouldn’t mind a scientific breakthrough or two…

My family are great at asking for help – so Grandma had a network around her from charities like Dementia UK and Age UK.  But even with this, every family needs more support. So I am delighted that by getting off my …. chair, in some tiny way, we can help other families who might be getting their 72^nd  phone call of the night….

With love and thoughts for anyone with a story.

Thanks again for all your support x

Looser shoes are better than tight ones....