the Cry for Help Without Tears
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My job if you can call it that was to help Mum with the day to day care of Dad. I wasn't here to judge, but in theory I was the sanest person in the house, as dad had dementia, mum was slowly going doolally and I was some where in between. I was a fifty-year-old man with two grown up children of my own, so I seemed a natural choice to move back in with my parents over thirty years after moving out, armed with only a sense of duty and a sense of humour. I knew nothing about the perils and pitfalls of dementia.......but then dementia knew nothing about me.
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Beschrijving
Bol
My job if you can call it that was to help Mum with the day to day care of Dad. I wasn't here to judge, but in theory I was the sanest person in the house, as dad had dementia, mum was slowly going doolally and I was some where in between. I was a fifty-year-old man with two grown up children of my own, so I seemed a natural choice to move back in with my parents over thirty years after moving out, armed with only a sense of duty and a sense of humour. I knew nothing about the perils and pitfalls of dementia.......but then dementia knew nothing about me.
Beschrijving
(2)
Bol
My job if you can call it that was to help Mum with the day to day care of Dad. I wasn't here to judge, but in theory I was the sanest person in the house, as dad had dementia, mum was slowly going doolally and I was some where in between. I was a fifty-year-old man with two grown up children of my own, so I seemed a natural choice to move back in with my parents over thirty years after moving out, armed with only a sense of duty and a sense of humour. I knew nothing about the perils and pitfalls of dementia.......but then dementia knew nothing about me.
AmazonPages: 80, Paperback, Maple Publishers
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