The video below made me cry towards the end.

It triggered two very recent conversations.

A member of the family has dementia. She is 96. Lives alone in Cornwell and her only surviving relative (her son, my brother-in-law) gets weekly phone calls from the local Cornish police. The last call was to tell him that his Mum had made one too many 999 calls, claiming that there was a ghost in her house who kept putting strange food in the microwave.

My brother-in-law has to drop everything, drive nearly 3 hours and see to his Mum.

Then, on my birthday, BFF and I have a wonderful 3 hour long conversation on the phone. Her Dad is now living with her, her husband and her three grown up children because he’s alone and has dementia.

I’ve known Nick since I was 11 years old. An RAF Squadron Leader who flew fighter jets and could outwit EVERYONE with his quick mind.

Karen asked if I’d like to talk to her Dad. So I did. For ages. Bless his heart. He remembered EXACTLY who I was :o)

I have so much research – decades of it – stored on kaput computers that are built to die. But I also have photographs, objets d’art, child drawings, letters, cards, jewellery, clothing, stones, seashells…a hundred thousand million MEMORIES of my life.

Our attic has sealed boxes filled with my sons’ childhood favourite things.

That minimalist living lark never struck a chord. We are humans and NEED tangibles to bring back memories.

Tiggy is a bit of a “whatnot” here. Until she breaks down.

There is always a line that needs to be drawn.

BTW – who INVENTED dementia? The cruelest of all suffering.