Jaunts and jollies

Gourock, down the Clyde estuary

When mum came to us, one of the things she really wanted was to go on a trip. When dad was sick, with so much intense focus and time spent on him, many days I couldn't even go for a walk around the block.  I was worried mum was being ignored.  So I asked her what she would like. To see Andre Rieu, she said.  I never imagined it would be possible, but sure enough he was coming to Glasgow. Eventually I took her and she loved it.

Mum loved a trip out or better yet, away, more than anything.  She had and still has a great sense of fun and adventure. It is one of the greatest sorrows that I now feel unable to do any of those many trips we took. Mum's life has been largely limited to dad's preferences. 

She didn't mind where she went in the slightest, but the further the better. Seeing André Rieu abroad would have been a dream come true for her.

- What would you like to do, mum? 

We went to yoga etc but you could see it wasn't her favourite activity.  Sitting about in a class wasn't really her idea of fun.  

- Ooh, a jaunt! I think.  I can't think of anything nicer.

- Where would you like to go?

- Anywhere! 

- Anywhere in Scotland? 

- Yes, or abroad! 

Mum is a Scot, who was never that keen on Scotland.

You do love a jolly, don't you!

- Oh yes, a jolly!

- London?
- Yes! I would love to go to London.

But the furthest I took her was Gourock, down the Clyde, on the train.  It as a super day out, stunning views and beautiful sunshine. It was the nearest simulation of sub-tropical I could manage. 

I would have loved to have taken her further. I considered taking her down to London, which she loved and had visited with reasonable regularity. I thought we could try and see her friends while we were there. But it is also a big endeavour to take somebody with Alzheimer's out of their routine on a multi-day trip, never mind abroad. I was exhausted, ill and fighting constant attacks from Pigface and his allies and his emissaries and proxies. So we never did get to London.  

Had I been able to exercise Power of Attorney, as they had both set it up, without all the things dad's son did to prevent me, I would have taken mum on trips, and maybe even abroad.  Had Pigface not been, like his father, dogmatic and controlling, with an unshakeable, dictatorial belief in his own infallibility, if he had been out of the picture the way he pushed me out of the picture, I could have given mum such happy final years.  She doesn't have jaunts or jollies she longed for with that glint of fun, that sparkle in her eye, that yearning for pleasure. 

We didn't get abroad.  Pigface had taken her passport or put it in the loft and taken away the access to that to and controlled all the rest. He took so much.