Spring, perhaps

I have thought about this blog a lot over the past two months. Easter has come and gone and we have spent two weeks in Vence. There has been snow and rain and last Saturday morning Judith's husband finally died at home. He had spent a week or two in a hospice but wanted to come home for the end of his life. I am working extra shifts, as are some of the other staff members. 

We left for France on April 6th, two years to the day after our daughter's funeral.  I took the little picture of her as a new-born, an original picture in a little frame. In the cold weather I kept this under my pillow, remembering how she hated to be cold. I have continued to do this. the weather was disappointing; it rained for four days in a row. We went to Antibes on Friday instead of Thursday and sat inside the restaurant. The journeys there and back were trouble-free. The weekend of April 27th to 29th we spent in Winchester. After our Friday morning walk we returned home, finished our packing and went to the Royal Hotel. This is in the centre of Winchester and was originally the bishop's house. Dan played bridge and on Saturday morning I went to see the Gerald Scarfe exhibition in The Gallery, which is in the public library in Jewry Street. I enjoyed it. He is undoubtedly very gifted, although I know nothing about art. I met Dan for lunch and then he want back for more bridge. I went to our room and read; I started using the e-reader again when we were in Vence. Dan is going to buy me a Kindle Paperwhite for my birthday. I have already got his birthday present. He found a new Stetson cap in the Chapellerie in Antibes. This replaces the one that he left on the train when we last went to the Albert Hall. 

We have bought our tickets for the events we want to see at the Hay festival. The How The Light Gets In festival will be back at Hay but we were disappointed last time and do not want any tickets this year. Afterwards we shall spend two nights at Pound Farm and meet the new canine additions to the family. I shall, of course, be glad to get home. Dan has booked our bed and breakfast accommodation. Our friends have bought a caravan which they will use. 

My poor, sick old uncle lives on, although one could hardly call it living. I have a bottle of wine for Sandra but forgot to take it when she was actually working a shift. This week or perhaps next week we shall see her. Yesterday, when I was working in the charity shop, a woman came in who used to work at Steep House. She was surprised that he is still alive. He does not answer when we speak to him. He is like a little husk.  

There is no news of our son. I doubt that we shall ever see or hear from him again. A man at the Probus Club, who is Dan's vice-chairman, is estranged from his daughter. He thinks that in four or five years Neil will return and want to be our son again. I do not agree. He is gone for ever. Dan will not have him back. 

I have been in a lot of pain recently. I am trying not to take Co-codamol. I have run out of the Voltarol patches that we buy in France. My neck is sore and I have been taking Ibuprofen; that is really cheap. My doctor prescribes strong Co-codamol but I do not like to ask for too much. There is a little arthritis in my left ankle and foot and that is the side where the sciatica strikes. Old age ain't no place for sissies. 

Two years on

So long since I last posted. A lot has happened. I am still working at the charity shop and Judith's husband is still alive. It is not easy for her. He is refusing to have carers because of his privacy and dignity. She is going to explore the possibility of engaging a Rosemary Foundation nurse or a bed in The Rowans Hospice. He is increasingly disabled and is at times not altogether compos mentis. So hard; they do not deserve this. 

Last weekend we went to the Isle of Wight to stay with our daughter's godmother and her husband. It was Mothering Sunday on our last day there. I had forgotten this. Of course, there was no card from my son. Anne did not get any cards either, but two of her daughters and her elder son phoned her and her younger son sent a text message. The night before we went to the theatre in Shanklin to see Russell Watson. It was enjoyable but there was too much amplification for a relatively small theatre. We lunched out on Saturday at a pleasant pub in Brading. We walked on Sunday morning to Sandown Bay and got the bus back. It was a very pleasant break. 

It has been milder after what was called The Beast from the East. It was not as beastly as forecast but was pretty bad. There was snow and sub-zero temperatures. We are fortunate that we live so centrally. We stocked up with food and stayed in, not walking on Friday morning as usual. We managed our Sunday visit to the nursing home. He has shrunk; he seldom acknowledges us. We sit and drink tea and eat the chocolate éclairs that I like so much.  How much longer can this go on? I have paid for his funeral and decided on the music. When we go into the chapel it will be the Morriston Orpheus Choir singing Swansea Town. During the slideshow we shall have Cleo Laine singing Bill. As we leave the chapel at the end of the service it will be Glenn Miller playing Moonlight Serenade. 

In an hour or so it will be two years since I last spoke to my daughter. I wish, I so wish, that we had gone to her that night. I wish I had phoned her first thing in the morning. I miss her every day. I have her baby picture in a little frame; during the intensely cold spell and more recent cold nights I have taken this into bed with me, tucking it under the pillow. She hated being cold. 

Tomorrow we are going to London. We shall take the train there and back (and pray that the snow that is forecast will not be sufficiently heavy to cause delays) and visit Churchill's wartime cabinet rooms. Then we shall go to a concert at the Albert Hall with our friend Jim and his sister and brother-in-law. If there is time we shall go to the V&A before the concert. We have a box with some women from Dan's bridge club.  Afterwards we shall dine at the Union Jack Club, which is conveniently near Waterloo station. I think it will be a good idea to check that trains are running before we dine. 

Post-Christmas Gloom

How long it is since I posted in this blog. I have been busy; since Robin Nettle was diagnosed with stage 4 cancer, I have done some extra shifts in the charity shop. It has not been easy. Donna is not coping well and constantly nit-picks. She takes every opportunity to wrong-foot me and Ethel is finding the same. However, just before Christmas she did apologise and told Ethel just how difficult she is finding it all. 

We had an enjoyable weekend in Shanklin from December 1st to 3rd. My friend gave me a navy blue Laura Ashley overcoat, which I have had dry-cleaned and also had a small repair made. I wore it when we went to France for Christmas. We went out on Saturday and Sunday and saw Yarmouth and one or two other places. The Isle of Wight is a pleasant place. 

We went to the Probus Christmas lunch; very nice food, most of the company was good but we were seated on the same table as a very opinionated woman. Dan is going to be elected chairman at the end of this month and so we shall be on Table 1 for the next two years. I hope we can choose whom we sit with. We also had the Walking for Health lunch at the same pub; better company and the same meal. The following day we took off from Gatwick for our holiday. 

We spent Christmas at the flat in Vence. It was very pleasant and we were lucky with the weather again. It rained on Wednesday and Thursday after Christmas but was pleasant enough when we walked up to lunch at La Farigoule on Thursday December 28th. We only had one other meal out. We had come back from Vallauris, where we were chasing up some parts for our kitchen, and we parked at the Leclerc supermarket. We had quite a shopping list. Dan suggested that we have lunch out and I suggested the Restaurant les Baous, very nearby. We went and had a most enjoyable lunch. I could not finish  my pizza so asked for and was given a box to take it home in. 

The picture is of my father's youngest brother. There were four brothers, of which my father was the eldest. All three of his brothers predeceased him. One died in infancy. The youngest died in 1954 at the age of 36. The other died in Melbourne, Victoria, at the age of 65. It is the youngest whose picture heads this post. He had no children but was married to a very sweet woman who stayed part of our family after he died.  She married again and had three children, two sons (one of whom was stillborn) and a daughter. Her second husband was absorbed into our family and made a speech at our wedding. Since my mother died Ruby has continued as my friend and confidante. Lately I have noticed that she is getting deaf. Today we took her out to lunch. On our way to collect her we stopped at my youngest brother's house to drop off some watercolours that my late aunt wanted him to have. He said that he had spoken to her on the phone and she was "hard work". Yes; it is true that there is a degree of confusion. I think that he is exaggerating but the problem is there. I was planning to get in touch with my eldest brother's first wife with a view of taking Ruby to see her. Ruby is only four years older than Gaye and they used to be good friends. When I mentioned this and Ruby said "Which one is that?" I realised that I must abandon that idea. Gaye has multiple sclerosis and is very frail. Perhaps she, too, is slipping into dementia. What a cruel condition that is. 

Tomorrow is the first day back in the charity shop for me. I am not looking forward to it but needs must. I do not feel that I can leave while Judith is struggling with her husband's ill health. She was very kind to me when Katy died.  In the evening we are going to see some friends as it is the husband's birthday. Despite my resolution about presents Dan has bought him a bottle of Armagnac for his birthday. His wife's birthday is next month. It still rankles that I am not worth a present; a share in someone else's second-hand kitsch or nothing at all is good enough for me. I shall rise above it. 

My old uncle lives on, although one can hardly call it living. I have asked the manager of the home to let me know at any hour of the day or night if he dies. The next hurdle will be his funeral; I have planned a cremation (his wish) and a simple service in the chapel where my daughter's service was held. We shall see. 

Tired nerves and minor injuries.

I am feeling very happy about my home now. The dining room is charming and the little table from the Vence kitchen has been restored and is in place. The two chairs, bought not long before we put our Clanfield house up for sale, are at the top end of the living room with the two little tables we bought in the Barnardo's shop in Waterlooville. They look so good since their restoration. It is so pleasant to have breakfast in the dining room.  The window is a corner one and we look out on the junction of High Street, College Street and Dragon Street.  I am looking forward to when our friends come from the Isle of Wight and we shall have lunch there.  That will probably not happen until after we come home from Vence. 

I did attempt the walk on Sunday. I knew before we had walked a mile that it was a mistake. It was planned that there would be a meeting at some friends' house and the walk would be discussed.  Dan went to this meeting and the other couple had been and gone. Had they discussed it together, I would have  known not to go on the walk.  Dan said that I was not to worry; the walk would be a "gentle" one. From the time we met up, one woman was in a foul mood and walked on ahead of us. I regret not turning back and going home. I coped reasonably well at first, but at Ramsdean I slipped on a stile and fell. There was barbed wire on the stile and my left hand and arm were cut and scratched. I sustained a bruise on the left forearm and one on the left leg. When we stopped on Winchester Hill for light refreshments, Dan remarked that we were all being left behind. The upshot was that the wife of one of the walkers came and collected three of us at Exton and we all returned to Petersfield. I had a hot bath and changed my clothes. We collected the other couple and went to the Wykeham Arms in Winchester in the early evening. 

The other couple completed their walk. They arrived when the four of us were sitting in the bar having a drink. The female half of the other couple asked that we sit outside so that she could smoke. Our table was booked for a 7.30 dinner but ultimately we did not sit down until ten past eight. It was more important that the one smoker among us sat down again after she and her husband had showered and changed and smoked another cigarette. As soon as I decently could I left them all and went to bed. 

I know that there are business problems for that couple but she is an inconsiderate person. In the past she has complained to Dan about what she sees as my rudeness and he has accepted her criticisms and passed them on to me. When the four of us are together the other three tend to talk about their business and I am not included. I can bear this; I have nothing to contribute and am happy to listen to my iPod.  This is my rudeness, it seems. I have to accept that, despite the fact that I wrote copy for their entry for an award, I was not worth a three pound bouquet of flowers from the Lidl supermarket on my birthday. They tolerate me because of their friendship with Dan.  I have decided to distance myself from it all. I shall give the person who gave me the second-hand artwork for my birthday last year a present on her birthday in November and then my involvement ends. 

On Tuesday I went to the minor injuries unit at the Petersfield Hospital and had a tetanus inoculation. This now includes diphtheria and polio. A nice young male nurse administered the injection.  He talked about childhood immunisations; I explained that I am a year older than the National Health Service and such vaccination was not routine when I was a young child. I had a polio shot when I was twelve years old, because there was an epidemic of that horrible disease. I remember that we could not do physical education at school. There were no Christmas parties; all this was delayed until the summer. 

We had an invitation to a party for the fiftieth birthday of a friend of the inconsiderate friend. I put it on the bulletin board and fully intended to accept and go to the party. Dan had a letter about a hospital appointment and pinned it over the top. I emailed the party giver and we shall send a card and flowers. I am going to ask Dan not to blame me about it. 

Planning a funeral

Well, my old uncle did not die. On Saturday we visited him and he was fairly alert and took some chocolate. He allowed the carer to give him some tea. I phoned his niece in Swansea and reported upon his improved health. Or has it improved? He is still very unwell and very frail. 

I have decided that I shall pay in advance for his funeral and plan it now. I discussed it with Patricia and she agreed. As the old man's attorney I have the legal right to do this, but courtesy costs nothing and she is his next of kin. She lost her husband in 2009, very suddenly; it was a stroke and Brien died the same day.  He would have been the very person to write and read the tribute to his uncle-in-law. I truly wonder if many people will come to the funeral. 

Last Friday two people I used to know at school came to visit. They last visited in 2003, just after we had moved into our flat. We had a very pleasant meal at the local ASK Italian restaurant. I quite enjoyed it and was glad that after all I had not put them off. We had walked in the morning but did not stay long after; just a quick cup of coffee.  

My nerves are tired. I did go to our friends' barbecue on Sunday. I was planning to stay home but my husband persuaded me. The food was, as always, delicious.  The company was pleasant, although we were left to introduce ourselves to a couple we had not met before. I drank a fair amount of Prosecco and ate cake and cream. We got a lift home. It was the charity shop on Monday and a man swore at me over the price of a pair of shoes. It seems that after I left a bowler hat was stolen.  Stealing from a charity shop somehow seems worse than stealing from any other shop. 

This Sunday a walk is planned with those same friends. It is proposed to walk from Petersfield to Winchester and stay the night at the Wykeham Arms. I do not know if I can do this. I have been suffering from chest pains and breathlessness.  My blood pressure was fine at my recent medical examination, so there cannot be much wrong. I have made an appointment with the doctor for September 4th. 

Tomorrow we shall walk in the morning. I am looking forward to that. It will be a little practice for the trek on Sunday. It is twenty-three miles to Winchester. I am going to take the iPod and listen to the latest Val McDermid novel. There will be five of us walking and I do not get included in on their conversations.  Listening to the book will make the walk more bearable. 

I must write a note to my aged aunt. We have not seen her since my father-in-law's funeral, when we collected her and took her to the church, afterwards taking her home again.  When we come back from Vence we shall collect her and take her out to lunch. 

Something good is that the little marble and cast iron table that used to be in the Vence kitchen is now in the living room. The Ikea vase that I paid £1 for in the charity shop is full of irises today.  Many silver-framed photos of our daughter are on the table, together with a candle lamp I brought back from Vence. The flat is so pleasant now. 

Old age and false alarums

I have just had the medical check-up that seventy year-olds get under the much-maligned National Health Service. My blood sugar level was a little up, my body mass index is good and my blood pressure is fine. My husband came for his check-up at the same time. His BMI is a little more than it should be, but this whole concept is probably going to be reviewed. Muscle weighs more than fat. 

Last weekend Dan went to the Adventure Film Festival from Friday morning to early Sunday evening. I went out on Saturday. I seldom go out on my own but that day I caught the bus from Petersfield Square to Waterlooville precinct and met up with a friend. We lunched and then went to look round the charity shops. I got a very nice Ikea vase for £1. Waterlooville looks very sad nowadays. So many of the shops in the town centre are empty. We reminisced about how it was when we first knew each other, forty-three years ago. We first met in Kingston, New York, where our husbands had been sent on assignment by IBM. I think that we would have become friends no matter how we met. A little more than a year after she and her husband returned to the UK they separated. She nearly remarried twice but is still single and I think wants to remain that way. I went on to have another child and eventually to lose both of my children in different ways. 

On Sunday I should have visited my uncle but did not. I simply could not face it. On Monday evening I had a phone call from Lijo, the manager of the nursing home where he lives. She told me that he was ill and that the doctor had been sent for. There was talk about the old man being taken to hospital. Later the doctor phoned me and confirmed that I had signed a Do Not Resuscitate form. He said that old Bill has pneumonia and there was nothing to be gained by removing him to hospital or administering antibiotics. The nurses had diamorphine to give him if he was in any pain or distress. I telephoned Patricia, Bill's niece and next-of-kin in Swansea. She asked me to let her know as soon as Bill's death happened. Yesterday we visited him and he was awake but not lucid. Today I did my shift in the charity shop and Alex, one of the carers, came in with his wife. They do a lot of shopping in Sue Ryder. He told me that Bill had eaten a good lunch and was getting better. I do not know what to do; should I phone Patricia and let her know this, or just leave things. 

On Friday September 8th we are leaving for Vence. The installation of our kitchen begins the following Monday. I was worrying about how Bill's funeral could be fitted in before we leave; now it seems there will be no funeral. He is not going to die after all. It has been a constant source of anxiety, that he would die while we are abroad. I have planned the music for his funeral but would need Patricia's help for the tribute, which I would get the minister (or celebrant, as they call such non-denominational people nowadays). I have nominated a funeral director; the firm that conducted our daughter's funeral. I have let my youngest brother know about the old man's illness. He is my back up attorney and would manage Bill's affairs in the event of my death or incapacity. He has never visited our uncle-in-law. I resent this as Bill enjoyed masculine company when he was cogent. My aunt was very good to him and it was always understood that he would be her executor.  Why she changed her will is another story. 

Saying "Good-bye" again.

I am tired and have had no lunch, just a cup of coffee at the Southampton General Hospital. We intended to visit my father-in-law after the follow-up visit to the eye surgeon. Dan let his sister know and she told us that he had been moved to another ward. While on the M27 a call came in from her; his condition had deteriorated and he had been moved to a side ward. It was just a matter of time. Two of Dan's sisters, Jacqui who is the eldest and Teresa who is the second, were already there. He died about an hour after we got there, slipping peacefully away.   I think that this is the most merciful way; he might have hated a residential home.  I am glad, so glad that Dan had a good relationship with him since 1991, when his mother died. The wonderful Elizabeth contributed greatly to that, of course. She was a wonderful woman.

Dan has let some of his father's relatives know. Veronica, a niece whom I particularly dislike, may be too infirm to come to the funeral. Her brother Joe, a man I like and who has a particularly nice wife, is also in a rather frail state. We shall see. Their sister Maureen and brother Gerard might come, I suppose, although I doubt it in Maureen's case. She distanced herself from her family long ago. Pauline, the other sister, died of cancer many years ago. I never met her and have never met Maureen.

My son said that he had "messaged" his father's family when he learned of Elizabeth's death and his grandfather's illness. The two sisters were phoning their two other siblings and their children whilst at the hospital. Perhaps they will let Neil know. I could send a message on Facebook but he would probably not see it. I have sent a message to Dan's brother Sean's ex-wife; I sent emails but they bounced back. I did not know that she had changed her email address. Perhaps her server is down.  She spends a lot of time on Facebook so I hope she will soon see my message. There have been many kind messages from my Facebook friends; people laugh at such things but these same people were very supportive and generous when my darling Katy died.

I do not know whether to visit my aged uncle-in-law tomorrow or Wednesday. I must go before we leave for Hay-on-Wye on Friday. One of the two sisters will collect the death certificate and arrange all with the funeral director. Paddy paid in advance for his funeral; all is arranged, even the wake. I have suggested that his death is announced in the local paper. There are still people about who would like to attend the funeral as he was a popular man. Although he was a cradle Catholic, his funeral service will be at St Marks, the Anglican church he attended for so many years with Elizabeth.

Impatience and Guilt

Today I finally had my hair cut and styled. The blonde, agreeable-looking woman is called Kate and she charges less than my last stylist. There are no tip boxes so that saved another five pounds. I am also very pleased with the cut she gave me. Before going out I changed the bed linen and did three lots of washing. I have started to pack the suitcase and my overnight bag. I shall have to charge both of my mobile phones before I leave. Tomorrow I have the charity shop in the morning and we must visit Dan's aged father-in-law in the afternoon.  The only appointment on Thursday is to have my eyebrows waxed. The rest of the day will be spent ironing, packing and cleaning. We shall go to Wetherspoon's for supper. The Red Lion is a pleasant old coaching inn and is the last place I had a meal with my daughter.

I visited the nursing home today. There was a staff meeting in progress. I had to go to the desk of the sour-faced receptionist to find a pen in order to sign myself in. I took jam doughnuts and chocolate and made tea as usual. The old man was awake; I sat for a while outside because his door was closed and I thought the staff were changing him. Then I knocked and went in. He ate a little jam doughnut and complained that his tea had no sugar. I had put a little sugar in but went to get more. He drank a little tea but kept asking me to take the cup away; I finally did and put it on the tray. He would not stop asking me to remove the cup that was leaking into his  bed. I am usually patient but today I could not cope with it. I shouted at him. This was a shameful thing to do and I knew it, but it was more than I could bear. I am tired of this; I am tired of visiting him. I am tired of doing battle with the nursing home management about the shoddy workmanship of the lazy handyman. I am tired of senile dementia and incontinence. My son is lucky that he has abandoned his parents. He will not have to look after us when we are old and demented. He will get nothing when we die unless we both die while we own the French flat.

When we turn seventy in June holiday insurance will become substantially more expensive. I suppose that this is understandable. We shall also be leaving the European Union. Our Denplan membership covers our teeth.  I know that such insurance is vital. We are both fit and healthy but old age is encroaching. Next year we shall have our last expensive holiday when we celebrate our golden wedding anniversary. These holidays have been every five years since 1993, when we went on the Orient Express for our silver wedding. I wonder if we shall see our diamond anniversary; we shall be eighty-one if so. I have been married longer than any of my three older brothers. The middle one has been married forty years to his second wife. The eldest one had a silver wedding anniversary with his first wife; the next year they were divorced and he finally married the woman with whom he had been living part of the time since 1972. The youngest one's longest marriage was from 1989 until 2006, although it was an on-and-off marriage the last three years. Two of husband's siblings, despite being brought up as Roman Catholics, have also been divorced. The eldest of the three sisters separated from her husband after twenty years. The youngest of the three boys has been divorced twice. I wonder what my pious, narrow-minded mother-in-law would have had to say about that. The second of the girls has been married nearly twenty-eight years. She could not be married in church because the man she married had been divorced twice. However, her husband was welcomed because she was a single mother. The second boy, Kevin, died just before his seventeenth wedding anniversary.  He drank a solvent containing cyanide. He had a degree in biochemistry, although it took him six years to get it.

I am tired; time for bed.

Old men forget and all shall be forgot

The weather  has been beautiful. Yesterday we went on a walk with our Walk for Health group and it was warm and sunny. There are wood anemones, bluebells and still some daffodils, although these are now looking a little tired. We saw an egret with a fish on he millstream. It flew away from the lily pads and up into a tree when we drew near. I agreed with the leader of the walk that we are all so lucky to live where we do. I am glad that we joined this group and not the Wednesday one that meets in the centre of the town. The walks are prettier and the group is growing. There were thirty-two walkers yesterday.

Today is my son's birthday; he is forty-one. I cannot send him a card or a present because I do not know where he is and in any case, it would be futile. He would take the money and not send a message of thanks. I miss him. On Thursday it was a year since Katy's funeral. I still miss her just as much. The picture is my favourite one of my children. We still have Dobbin, the rocking horse. He is made of New Hampshire white pine and we bought him at the Dutchess County Fair in 1978. One day I shall give Dobbin to a new baby, the son or daughter of one of my great-nieces or nephews. When we moved from our house to this flat I sent a text to Neil, who was living in the midlands,

I have a new laptop and my husband is just transferring all the necessary data to it.  I spend far too much time on the computer and often make a resolution not to do that. We shall be in France soon where we have no broadband. Using Facebook on a mobile phone is too stressful to my eyes so I have to go without. I keep busy cleaning and doing laundry so I don't miss it too much. I shall have my two iPods, one for fiction books and one for non-fiction for entertainment. We also have films on DVD and download to watch in the evenings.

It is nearly time for the nursing home. I have obtained the necessary cakes and put the chocolate I keep for the old man into the bag. We have to buy eggs before we go there; we still go back to the village where we used to live for free-range eggs from a local farm. Tomorrow we shall go to the house of friends for drinks.

We have just returned from our excursion. The old man remembered us today and ate about half of the jam doughnut I acquired from Waitrose. He wanted chocolate mostly and tucked into brown and white chocolate buttons.  His room has been painted and the two pictures I brought from his house were put back in the wrong place. When I went to change them I found that the picture hooks had not been taken from the wall and replaced when the paint was dry. They had been painted over and the pictures replaced while the paint was still wet. The electrical sockets were not removed while the painting was done. This is slipshod work; next time I am sent a questionnaire about the home I shall comment upon all of this. I must let the manager of the home know that we shall be away soon. If all goes according to plan we shall be in France in two weeks' time.

I wonder if my son is celebrating his birthday.  I do not know if he is working, if he is lonely or has everything that he needs. He is not a materialistic person.  He loves his record collection and little else. I shall always love him; at least, I suppose I shall while I am cogent. When I am old and senile (if I live that long) I shall no longer remember my two children. When my executor or other person clears out the flat will they throw all the old photos away? Will there be nothing left of my family?

I have my new laptop computer but Outlook will not work on it. I have checked on my favourites, made sure of the passwords and installed the buttons for my most-used sites. Dan will contact BT and sort out the email. It is the warmest day tomorrow but then it will be colder again.

Chrysanthemums and chocolate éclairs.

Today we had a visitor. My Auntie Ruby came to lunch. Father-in-law was going to come too, but is unwell. Ruby is an honorary aunt really; she was married to my father's brother and he died in 1954. Ruby remarried and her husband was absorbed into our family. I still look upon her as an aunt and she has been there all of my life. She is ninety-one now and getting frail.  She is a very gregarious person and has always been busy and active. Her husband died three years ago and I suppose that this death came into the "merciful release" category. He was suffering from vascular dementia and she was struggling to cope. Ruby attends the church where Dan's stepmother was parish clerk and she knew her and also got to know my father-in-law when he started attending St Mark's with Elizabeth.

I showed Ruby pictures on my computer of various family members. It was then that I noticed that she is somewhat deaf and also a little confused. Several times I had to explain who the people in the pictures are; some of them she has not seen for decades and they are dead now. However, she saw my niece and her husband at Katy's funeral, just a year ago. She was interested in the children and the house. Ruby has always been an animal lover; I remember two cats she had when I was very young. They were tabbies and their names were Chinky and Tiger.

We had a roast today, as we always do for father-in-law. It was lamb; when we saw him on his birthday he was going out for a meal with Dan's sister Teresa and her husband. He wanted lamb and said that he always arrives too late for it. It was a very good joint that we had today. Ruby and I had a chocolate éclair each for pudding. I did not drink wine; I have to go to the charity shop tomorrow and I can never tell how I shall react to alcohol nowadays.

Ruby brought my brother's new address. He moved house last year but did not send a Christmas card to us with this information. He is living in the village where Dan and I started our married life. We lived there until 1975.  When my ancient uncle finally dies I must give him the two Sydney Vale FRSA paintings that are in old Bill's room at Steep House. My aunt promised him all the paintings by this artist. I do not care for them.  I am executor of my uncle's will; I have a feeling that this may be a thankless task. I wonder how many of Bill's own relatives will come to his funeral. I shall go with cards of the partner who will be seeing his will through probate. If any of the Ratcliffe and other families ask about the will I shall tell them the truth; it all goes to charity. The first beneficiary is dead so the Hospital for Sick Children will get anything that is left. If this raises a protest I shall give the protester a card and tell him or her to consult a solicitor and Jarndyce v Jarndyce it out.

Next Sunday the forecast is for sunny spells and temperatures up to 14° Celsius. We may walk with our friends and have lunch at a pub. I would like to take one of my iPods and listen to a good book on the way but Dan thinks this is anti-social. I am becoming more and more withdrawn. The heartache is always there; I have "moved on" as the cliché has it, but the sadness and regret have come with me. I want my daughter back and no one can give her to me. I shall always miss her. I enjoy the walks, although very steep hills are too much for me now. When I give up volunteering we shall go on longer walks with the Walk For Health group. We belong to the Sheet group and meet up on Friday mornings.  After the walk, which lasts for about an hour, we have coffee and biscuits at the pub, the Half Moon. That is where the Probus club meetings are held.

I must now finish tidying up and get my clothes ready for the morning. I hate getting out of bed; I could just stay there, hiding from the world and listening to audio books. In three weeks; time, if all goes according to plan, we shall be in Vence. There is Easter to be got through meanwhile. It would mean so much if my son would get in touch but reason and experience tell me that this will not happen. Perhaps one day I shall feel as if I never had a son.

I have to cut the stems of the chrysanthemums that Ruby brought for me, rearrange the daffodils that I always have in spring and then arrange the new flowers in vases.

Missing my only daughter

The shops are full of gifts for mothers whose children care about them. I have kept all of Katy's Mothering Sunday cards; mostly what she made herself when she did her courses at the local further education college. The little flower, possibly a gerbera, is her last present to me. It lives on in our garden in Vence. Pink was her favourite colour. We took her to an amateur production at the Festival Hall and one of her further education teachers was selling programmes. She told us that Katy was very bright; she stood out among her classmates. Once, when asked what her favourite colour was, she said "Is it all right if I say cerise?" I wore a scarf of that colour to her funeral. I miss her; the gap she has left is still there and there will never be anyone to fill it.

We must visit the nursing home this afternoon. Dan has bought a bag of doughnuts. The old man asked me to bring one when I visit today. I hope that I see Sandra, the head of activities, as I want to have a word about the carers. She was one of that team for six years. I want her to reassure them that I do not think badly of them; I have had run-ins but I know that they work hard for their measly pay. I am very annoyed that they have been blamed for the magnetic catch coming away from the wall. It was not installed properly in the first place and the handyman's dilatory tactics made it worse. I have reassured one young man but I want it emphasised. The handyman has not been well recently and I suppose will milk that to the limit.

There has been much in the press about a pensioner called John Place. He was seventy-two when his optometrist told him that he must no longer drive because of his deteriorating eyesight. Even with glasses, his vision did not come up to the standard required. He ignored this advice and went out in his car without his glasses. He killed a little girl of three and seriously injured her mother when he ran a red light.  It was reported that he did not stop at the scene until another car flagged him down but the police subsequently denied that this was true. He has been sent to prison and a five-year ban will begin when he comes out; rather absurd not to ban him for life, for he will never get another licence. I am wondering about taking up driving again after the next vitrectomy. I have never been a very happy driver, although I used to drive many miles because of my daughter's needs. We shall see. My night vision is not great but I hope that this will improve when the floaters are gone.

There have been no more anonymous calls on my mobile phone. I wonder if there will be more in a few months' time. I do not know where my son is; I believed he was in Portsmouth but now I wonder if he is in Havant. We seldom go there now. It was where Katy lived and we used to see her most Saturdays. I know that Neil was working (probably unpaid) as a disc jockey in a pub in Havant. He had to leave his flat in Petersfield and we did not hear from him again. It was only when I discovered some vitriolic messages in my message requests folder on Facebook shortly after Katy's funeral that I knew of his new profile. I do not even know if he is working; I hope he is. He paid so dearly for that one bad mistake and deserves another chance.

Tomorrow Dan is going to walk with a friend. I shall stay at home and do more ironing; I am not feeling sociable and shall do the chores instead. I have a charity shop sack that needs to be filled and must sort through some clothes. If I am going to have a dining room at long last, we shall lose clothes storage space. I cannot face parting with my shawls and scarves; I always buy natural fibres and they keep my arthritic neck warm. Some T-shirts must go and there are some miniature tea sets that may please a collector. Katy's doll house and the furniture and family went two years ago, to an old school friend. She has little grandchildren and it has already been played with. I kept it for the granddaughter I shall never have.

We have to go to buy eggs at Charity Farm before we visit the nursing home. I shall put my iPod in my handbag. One or both iPods go with me when I go out. I cannot manage print books or my e-reader any more. Audiobooks are wonderful; well, most of them anyway.

Seizing the day

This year I shall be seventy years old. My life has been busy and eventful and I often wonder how long it will continue  and what the quality of the remainder will be. My general health is good and I keep active. The bogey man who lurks on the periphery of my life is senile dementia. Eight years ago I inherited a sick old man who at the time was reasonably cogent although frail physically. He lives on, nearly blind, very deaf, bedridden, incontinent and far gone in dementia. Sometimes he will recognise me and my husband when we visit, but often he will mistake us for someone long dead, or not respond at all. Familiarity with senility has made me dread it.

I was ambitious once and I suppose I achieved a few of the things to which I aspired. I made a good marriage that has lasted forty-eight years and had a  daughter and then a son. I tried to be a good mother but am now permanently estranged from my son and my daughter died a year ago. She was autistic but high-functioning and a good, sweet person.

In a material sense I have everything I need and more and I am grateful but the gap the loss of my children has left will never be filled. My husband and I do most things together and have a good life. I think that we are too old now fully to enjoy any grandchildren that might one day come, although our son is still single and shows no sign of settling down.

The old man for whom I am responsible was married to my  mother's younger sister. She was the second youngest of a family of fifteen children, eleven of whom survived infancy. Owing to the fact that  my mother largely brought her up, the two sisters were very close. When my aunt died I found that I was to be her executor and hold my uncle's  power of attorney, not only for financial matters but for health and welfare. Thus I became responsible for a man I had not seen for forty years. I did this willingly as one cannot turn one's back on a sick old man. There was also the fact that he had left my daughter the sum of £100,000 in his will. When I signed the power of attorney documents I joked that all of the old man's money might go in long-term care. I did not anticipate that the main beneficiary would predecease him.