A year on.

This time last year we brought my father home from hospital. He had had a pacemaker fitted and due to that, his age and my vociferous pleas for help; he brought a whole team of medical professionals into our lives. My gratitude surpassed any words I could proffer.

They took over his care from me so I could breathe. A year on, it has been a rollercoaster. His disdain for paying for care has been thwarted by my despair and disdain of caring for him. It has been difficult but I pulled on my big girl bloomers and persevered with my determined wish for him to have a morning carer. He has paid for this care with only a minimal amount of venomous diatribe.

His health has been relatively stable. The pacemaker made a huge difference to his life. It was unbelievable. But he turns ninety one next week and as his body crumples and his oomph dissipates, he has been trying to get his affairs in order. A large chunk of that involves me, his unwilling carer, taking on more responsibility. Life does not get easier.