On Sunday morning Lindsay Fowkes, mum’s carer, failed to rouse her and came to tell me ‘I think she’s gone’.

I went to see her myself.

She was lying, as always, on her side. She had passed in her sleep, peacefully, as she would have wanted.

Mum sleeping still 05/01/2025

Then followed a crazy morning in which we had visits from the police, the paramedics and the undertaker. Lindsay stayed with me through all this. I felt as if I was in a state of shock. Unable to think clearly and phased, I think is probably the best word for it.

I wasn’t sorry mum had gone, engulfed in grief a couple of times, particularly when I thought of her lying there cold and stiff. Everyone who called was most discrete and professional in their dealings with us, and tender in extending their sympathies to us.

I informed the people on the park that Mrs Jean Armstrong, No. 4, had now gone, through the what’s app group; and other friends and family as the day went on. Lindsay left about 1.30 and after a bowl of soup I went to watch a little mindless tv and have a sleep.

Since then I am slowly recovering my composure with only occasional lapses into sorrow. I write all this, not to elicit further sympathy but because a youtube clip was in my in tray quite unusually and it seemed appropriate. Those of you not familiar with the depth of passion that can be carried in Greek music I ask to listen with sympathy to the playing and singing. Try not to judge it with western ears, either classically or rock educated. It is something more primitive and with an ancient history. I hope you may discover a love for this music as I have. As it is a list I have not listened to all the pieces yet but the first is a graveside eulogy to the person they are sending off.

Mum is happy now she has been able to lay down her tired and painful body, a crash on 1st January 2000, had left her left thigh crushed and the plate they put in to support her was too long, causing her hips to fall out of balance. Now she is zooming about with friends and family, discovering her greater self.

She was a very private lady. Warm and sympathetic, incredibly generous in her patience and tolerance. She acquiesced to my demands that she take a walk every day and eat a little more than she wanted to. She lead a hard life in many ways but never lost her ability to love and care for others, nor her good humour. It has been a privilege to serve her as I have done over these last few years, not always as well as I would have liked. Dementia is a cruel disease.