The thing about care homes, with or without nursing, is that once your relative has moved in, your relationship changes.
For some, that might be an improvement. I have very mixed feelings.
I confess that I shan’t miss scrubbing out the microwave when carers have forgotten to cover food, or rushing backwards and forwards from the laundry, or a myriad small and large inconveniences associated with the scheme where Mother has her flat.
But however good (or bad) her new home is, the days of spending hours with her, cooking, giving her simple tasks, getting her to help me with the washing up, eating in private, pushing plates aside to enjoy our poetry and nursery rhymes, walking out of door straight into the garden, making her a hot drink, or watching her surprise and pleasure when she tastes a soup I’ve just made, all these days are over. Continue reading