A serious post, because I accompanied my Mum to see my Dad in his care home today. And it might be the last time I see him alive. I've got to be honest, and say that I don't like going to the care home. It smells, it's depressing and it makes you reflect a lot on mortality - not just your loved ones but your own. And it makes you feel guilty that you'd rather be anywhere else. But for me the saddest thing is that I don't want to remember my Dad how he is now, and would rather remember him how we was. It's an unfortunate, but very real, view on how devastating and traumatic the process of ag(e)ing and dementia/depression can be. My respect has exponentially increased for the people that work at places like this, and the caregivers (like my Mum) who regularly and frequently go to visit despite how tough it must be to see their loved one's mental and physical faculties deteriorate.
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