I am an only child. My father was killed in a car accident when I was 14 and my mother was 47. We were really tightly bonded after that. She worked at a university and was an artist: she painted and carved birds. She was a wonderful person, who lit up a room and was someone everyone wanted to be around. She was very giving.
Later in life, she developed dementia. I left my teaching position to stay home and look after her. She was very active – she would go outside and rip up bulbs, put the horses in the wrong stalls. It was very stressful to come home – I would enter the driveway and think: “Oh my word!”
I didn’t have any previous experience of dementia, and I was thinking it wouldn’t
Continue Reading on The Guardian
This preview shows approximately 15% of the article. Read the full story on the publisher's website to support quality journalism.