It's not always like this.
Arriving late evening, putting tomorrow's evening meal in the fridge ready for Homecare to heat.
Asking her, "so you're about to get ready for bed?"
And she's watching out the window, scanning the path - "I just need to get the wee one in and ready for his bed."
Remembering "Contented Dementia" - do I humour her? - remembering the CPN's advice - do I 'gently reorientate' her?
I want her to get ready for bed.
Saying her name, "remember that it's just you here - he's all grown up, and married to me, and he's away out at a meeting."
And she looks at me, panic and puzzlement in her eyes, "I wasn't thinking of him, I was thinking of my own wee boy..." Scanning my face now, looking for reassurance.
Not gentle enough then.
Remembering Oliver James' photo album with the missing photographs, remembering the photo life story we put together on the CPN's advice.
Explaining, "yes, he was your wee boy. And you looked after him beautifully, and took care of him, and took him on holidays to Millport. And he got bigger and went off to university and grew into a lovely man, and I married him and now he's my husband."
And she listens to the story and her face relaxes and she throws her head back and laughs such a happy, relieved laugh, her eyes dancing, "Oh, that's good!! So, it's just me, then? Well, I'll just get ready for bed."
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