Stepping closer to Hell
Tomorrow Ma moves into her new and final home. My heart feels like a stone and my eyes like pools of water. It’s terrible. I spoke to her very briefly two times today. The last time she said with certainty, ‘I am not leaving from here. I like it very much. I am safe and well looked after. I am not leaving.’ I couldn’t argue with her, it would distress her before going to bed. I told her James and I would see her tomorrow. ‘Are you allowed to? That’s fantastic!’ And so I betray my mother. We are coming to pack her things and take her away and then we will take her to her new place. We haven’t been around it and we haven’t met the people who will look after her. We can’t because of the coronavirus lock down. Ma will descend another few steps in the direction of dementia. She has already moved along that road quite substantially since moving into H. That’s why she’s being asked to move. They don’t want her problems. They don’t like her attitude. They don’t want her grief and bad behaviour. They claim she 'wanders about, shouts, assaults the staff.'