What right have I got to cry?

It started around 2008. By 2009, my husband was noticeably unwell. Dementia set in, and the next few years rolled by. They were hair-raising.

I learned a lot. For instance, after reading a few books and finding out what I was possibly in for; when he had his first stroke, he recovered well. A few months later, I noticed he was coughing a lot after eating or drinking. Then the second stroke came, and he had to be put on thickener for all fluids. I had to learn how to do that. We managed. It was all right.

Then the day came when he broke his hip. We were six and a half years into our abandonment by then, and it was only then that we finally got the help I'd been asking for, for all those years.

Two years later, and, after the care he received, he was finally off the thickener; eating and drinking properly again. I wondered how they did that, as it was spectacular. Sadly, in the last few months, he's had to be put back on this stuff. A few days ago when I visited him, I could see how awful his health had become.

True to form, he fell the day after I was with him, and he went into hospital. After he broke his hip two years ago, they couldn't keep him in bed. He was out of it the very next morning, on his own. Because of the dementia, he didn't even know he'd had an operation! This time, though, things ain't so good. It's already been vocalised that he might not make it through.

That was my cheery good morning message. I've been chasing up events ever since. The hospital staff have got him on observation. They are not committing to whether he will go back to his care home, or not.

Well, I guess you can't, can you.

They say grief has to happen. I find that impulsive, quite honestly. I mean, we do what we have to do, don't we, but I'm sitting here thinking: what right have I got to cry? My husband can't eat or drink properly. I don't know if he ever has any thought processes at all, now, as he's so vacant when I see him. Dementia is an evil bloody devil, let me tell you. Plus, this last fall he had might take his life, or it might not.

I'm not in that position. I can eat and drink reasonably what I like. My thought processes may not be the same as everyone else's, but they are mine, and I am sane. I can sit here and watch what I enjoy, and follow it properly. Hubby can't. I can pick up a book and read it with thorough understanding and enjoyment. Hubby can't.

I can go for a ride in my buggy. Hubby can't even walk. I can go shopping and choose what I want to eat; drink; wear, etc. Hubby can't do those things. He's been incapable of it for many years.

So what right have I got to cry? Of course I'll bloody miss him. We were married in 1991. I met him in 1989. I've known and loved him for years. Yeah, we got on each other's nerves like all married couples do. But sit here crying and feeling sorry for myself? Is that what's really expected of me?

Why? I'm still alive. Life is good and I have memories no one can ever take from me.

Death duties

They say no one should face death alone.

Why? Does it make you weak, or something? I'm having to face the fact that sometime soon, my husband may die, and I'll then have to face all the debt that will follow. I'll have to take out a bank loan to pay everyone off, like the Pensions people, or DWP. Then there's the rest of his care costs, for, as I understand from other people who have been through this, care costs at a nursing home or similar facility don't stop on the day your loved one dies. They continue to charge while they prepare the room for someone else to live in.

I don't know if there's a cap on the time taken to do that. I've been shafted enough times to know that if people can make money out of a situation, they'll use it for as long as they can. But, we'll see.

There will be no funeral. My husband hated the idea of me being saddled with those costs. But you have to put your loved one to rest somewhere. Nothing comes free! So I've decided what will happen. Direct funerals are offered, these days, where the body is cremated without anyone being there to see it happen. The person's ashes are sent to the family so they can plan a Memorial at some later time. I think that'll be the way to go.

See, death, as important a time as it is, is no less natural than anything else. My husband didn't 'do' emotions. He had no time for fripperies! A big send-off to him was a waste. "When you're dead, you're dead!" was his motto. I soon learned the hard way that I also had to put on a hard skin. No more wearing hearts on sleeves. There's no time for it. And it bores people.

I'm facing all of this alone. Obviously, I'll have to prepare for the inevitable: "Is there anyone I can call for you?" question. I really won't know how to answer that. If Utopia was a place, people would be clued up enough to not ask such a silly thing.

No, there's no one. I'm alone in this life, and I'll get on with the process of living.

Back in harness

I've shared music with other people since I was 14 years' old. I started by covering for a local pair of youth clubs; one was near my house, the other was at the other end of the village on the nearby R.A.F. base.

The latter didn't last many years. The former, I attended for 13 years altogether.

I suppose I had a seven-year break from my passion before finding my next musical home at my local hospital radio station. I had a ball over there, meeting people in the hospital who came from all walks of life. It gets very interesting when you see someone whose been in hospital for a whole year, who finally gets the call to go home, having suddenly improved and recovered from the terrible injuries she sustained to her leg. I went to meet her that last night. She called my name in rapturous mood. "I'm finally going home!" she said. "Well, 'bout time an'all!" I replied, and gave her a massive hug. I was so pleased for her.

Then another lady, quite a bit older than I was at that time. Her son told me she was a distant relative of someone in a well-known band. Status Quo got her through her stay in hospital. She loved them, because one of them was family, apparently.

Then, someone else who had once worked for Her Majesty, our Queen. I kid you not!

Very occasionally, I'd meet people I knew from years before and we'd have a short chat and a catch up of sorts. Meeting your listeners when you play programmes in a hospital setting is incredibly exciting. It was the best bit of my night, hands down. I was active at the station for 18 years, and they decided to bless me with a Life Membership. I sat there in one of our meetings in stunned shock. I really couldn't speak for a few minutes when I was told about it.

And then, life rolled off the rails. I got sick. My husband got sick and I had to decide to leave the station. They still keep in touch, now and again and I'm currently in a position to be able to make programmes at home for the backup 24 hour playout software that keeps the station rolling through the night and all the following day, every single day when we're not there to physically man the studios. I'd love to go back. I ache for the old days sometimes, especially as I don't see anyone now that hubby's in a care home. I've become a hermit due to the condition I have, and no one ever comes to visit. So I need to kick meself up me own rump and make things happen. That means getting my own station together! It's going to happen too. This summer, Sunshine Radio will be available. I just have to get a couple more bits of studio kit, then I'm up and running with the new obsession :D

See, it's all Mum's fault. When I was a kid, she had given me a very old music box; a diamond-shaped lump of metal, (I kid you not), with a huge turnkey on top It was a black and gold thing, and I would not go anywhere without it, apparently. I'd had this item since I was a small baby and, if I hadn't got it with me at night, I'd create merry you-know-what until I was given it again.

Then, I'd go to sleep!

Mum loved to sing. She also played the piano, and we had a big wind-up gramophone which got played at the weekend. It was Mum who played me my first request. We had the radio as a background sound. In later years, it was records on a beautiful old radiogram I loved to play with.

So, I've had music around me since probably before I was born. I love it. I can't live without it, and these days, the first inkling that I can get back sharing it with others again, I'm right in there. So look out for Sunshine Radio this summer. I'll leave the link and contact details when it's all set up.

I'm sooooooooo excited :D