Three Months on….

Janey Godley
Jul 22, 2017 · 4 min read

My dad died.

It’s been three months since my dad died. I gave myself three months of space in my head to cope with piercing grief. Then I realise there is not time limit.

I relive that spring morning at 4am when Violetta the care assistant called with “Am sorry Janey your dad just passed away” and something inside me cracked and that pain hasn’t healed.

The care home was 66 steps away from my flat. We got dad into a residential place that was so close to us we could see it from our window.

Dad had vascular dementia but still knew me right up to the end so am lucky, aren’t I?

Every day I saw him, sometimes ate breakfast with him, sometimes put him to bed and sat and read to him. I was lucky.

I don’t feel lucky, I feel as though there is a thing like a bomb the size of a pomegranate in my chest and it threatens to explode on a daily basis.

I know I had him a long time, he was 84 years old. I know I was loved and he told me so every day. He was a good dad and brilliant grandpa to Ashley. He was funny, modern, like swearing, loved technology, laughed at dirty jokes, loved books, taught me to paint water colours, had the bluest eyes that I inherited and would hold my face and tell me he was so proud of me whenever I stopped talking long enough for him to catch my face close to him.

I would sit in that care home armchair with my head on the side of his bed and once or twice fell asleep, am sure the care assistants thought I was weird. I would go in at 11pm because I knew he was awake and we would tune into Ashley on the radio show or drink weak tea and I would read to him.

Now he is gone.

To make matters worse husband is wearing some of dad’s tee shirts.

Yes, my autistic (waste not want not) bampot of a man has three of my dad’s tops and wears them on a weekly basis. At first, I was a bit disturbed but then I started laughing because I know my dad would love that and find it funny.

My husband cared for my dad when I was at work. They had a relationship that my husband never got to have with his own dad and for the rest of my life, I will be grateful to my husband for the attentive and constantly reliable care he took of dad.

My dad had flashes of dementia anger but weirdly never once showed it to me and saved it all for my man who took it without blinking. There is a weird symbiosis between autism and dementia that I think we should certainly look into for future.

When dad was being obstinate and confused husband just repeated what they were doing and never got emotional. Dad’s breakfast set was laid out perfectly because of his dementia, constant change wasn’t good and that fitted into husband’s autistic leanings. Because of my husband Dad knew where everything was.

When he was in the care home, husband would take him out regularly in the wheelchair and into the local pub. My dad was sober for 36 years but liked a coffee and cake in the pub and a look at the big screen football. The care home was full of women and he didn’t socialise with them much, due to his confidence going because he knew his speech was fading, and I suppose it was nice for him to have bit of loud men shouting at a football match around him.

If the pub was too busy we would hit the café’s in the West End of Glasgow.

I am very grateful his last months were full of activity and love.

But I still feel broken inside.

Am about to hit my busiest time with a wee bit in a film and three to four shows a day at Edinburgh fringe. But in my quiet moments, my heart feels shattered.

Janey Godley
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