February 19/2001
I know, I know it's been a long time since I have written in my diary. I did spend time last November recording my thoughts but somehow the file got lost and then I guess I got lost...

Anyway I am back and will try to do better. I want to go back in time a bit and talk aout December. As those of you who have followed my diary may recall, dad and I always went to special seniors' services at Christmas. I will admit that I had not stepped inside the church since the memorial service for dad last May. I was afraid that if I sat where we used to sit I'd just start crying. But the time had come for the senior's Christmas service and I knew I had to bite the bullet and attend.

I sat right up front where dad and I used to sit so he could see and hear as well as possible, and the minute I sat down people started to come over to say hello and ask after me. It was heart warming to say the least.

As always the service was lovely. The minister started things off by picking up a guitar and singing Holy Night as he walked among us. I was in trouble...one of my most beloved hymns which brought back memories of dad trying to sing before he lost all ability to speak. So I cried and sang and sang and cried but managed to pull myself togther for his next few hymns.

It felt strange without dad beside me; no-one's nose to wipe or tears to soothe. No one to share my hymn book with (even though he could not read it, I always asked dad to hold it with me). No one to take to tea afterwards where I would spend most of my time helping dad eat and the rest of the time cleaning up the mess...I sat with our friends the Staffords and had a very enjoyable afternoon.

I have not been back since; spending most Sundays working these days. I have so much work I am almost overwhelmed, look around at the mess and don't know what to tackle first.

I have not been back to the nursing home since the memorial service there for dad and some other residents who died around the time he did. Nor have I been in touch with Mimi or Wahid, two very important people who cared for my father. I need to rectify this.

Some people asked me after dad died if I would continue in my work or would I move on to something else. Nothing could be further from my mind. The more time passes and the more I continue to learn about my experience and myself the more I understand that I need to work even harder. So many caregivers need help and support and there just isn't enough to go around. I continue to do speaking engagements and hope to do even more. This way I can reach so many people at one time and I can talk about what they want.

I miss dad. Sometime when I think back I cannot believe he has been dead for almost 10 months. It' incomprehensible to me. It seems like yesterday that I was walking over to visit, to hug, to feed, to walk, to fix whatever I could. He is still so clear in my mind's eye, in two particular ways: I see him sitting with his cane in the entryway of the retirement home where he lived for a year, waiting for me - waiting for his daughter who was going to take him out. More painful is when I see him sitting in his wheelchair in front of his television in his last year at the nursing home, in the evening after I have given him his dinner and it is time for me to leave. As I left I always looked back when I reached the door; I always saw same the heartbreaking image of an old man hunched over in his wheelchair, alone, unable to reach out, to speak. I always wanted so badly to know what was going on in his head as I was leaving...did it make a difference? Was he crying inside? Was he afraid? I will never know but that image of my father will haunt me forever.

I wish I had spent more quiet time with dad. So much of the time I was with him I felt I had to be doing something...cutting his hair or cleaning his room or something. Otherwise why was I there? In retrospect I should have just sat by him, holding his hand. Even though he could not speak or respond, I always felt he was still aware, absorbing my presence and voice for strength.

I now try and share these thoughts as I speak to others so they may have another opportunity to sit quietly with the one they love. Our loved ones do not go on forever, inspite of what we may allow ourselves to believe. Sit, listen, love, appreciate with the person you care for. It will end and you probably won't be ready.