The atmosphere in our house is pretty dour this weekend. On Tuesday we shall be seeing the social worker for my father in law in order to decide what is to be done with him. We have had reports that he is repeatedly going to the church (which he attended for most of his life) at inappropriate times, bursting in on yoga classes or playgroups or half way through services.
The vicar himself is as sweet as could be, but last week during a choir practice it was noticed that my FiL had wet himself, leaving a large puddle, but appeared to have no awareness of what he had done. This and other incidents are slowly drawing us to the belief that he can no longer sustain a life of his own and will very soon need to be admitted to a home where they specialise in residents with memory issues.
Naturally my poor wife is in a dreadful state about this momentous step, knowing that it might well bring about his death in short order (as often happens in such cases) and it has "all gone to her stomach". But we have nailed our courage to the sticking post, and will go with that decision if the social worker agrees this is now the only option. Even then there will be a delay of perhaps months, and everyone involved is afraid for what could happen to him in the interim.
Meanwhile my own mum's condition continues to deteriorate on the same trajectory, running a year or so behind my father-in-law. She has now lost her car, as I reported in earlier blogs, and her life too is slowly contracting towards a single point. God help us all...
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