The mist has rolled in, silent and insistent. It’s crept under locked doors and into private spaces, obscuring what was. I want to return to when the sun shone every day; when he was strong; when I could call out “Dad can you fix this?” But for the first time in our lives, he can’t. So a fog has settled on the household. Continue reading “It can’t be fixed”
Defying his age
My dad has a thing for bathrooms, not that he spends hours preening himself in them or that he is incontinent, it’s just that he likes tarting them up. And at the youthful age of 88 … Continue reading “Defying his age”
