There's a photo of my Mum in what was their shared bedroom.
Tonight I looked at it as I said goodnight and felt a thunderbolt move through me. My brain didn't know the difference between a photo and the real person. And those twinkling eyes and bright smile saw me.
For 4 seconds I was her daughter, instead of my Dad's carer. For 4 seconds I was seen by the eyes that always listened.
My Dad's easy to care for. On a good day he's jolly, engaged, sings a lot, cries a lot, always says thank you, is respectful and contributes what he can.
He shows me his shoe collection every evening and we repeat most of our conversations many times throughout the day, so I've got quite good at them!
And I'm only one of 3 carers too. My hours were every other week in Dec, but they're now down to 1 week a month, which is very reasonable.
Infact, if I didn't also work-from-home full time, living with him for a week would be a doddle - we'd have a lot of fun! Hmmm I need more time off!
So for the most part I feel blessed.
But that thunderbolt struck through the 'get on with it' exterior and straight into the vulnerable core whispering "I see you. I know it's hard. You're all doing a good job" and it cracked me open.
I guess I was overdue a good cry.
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