Deb and Murry
‘My father was diagnosedabout two years ago. He had a series of mini-strokes which started to take hismemory, but he was still capable of getting around. It was just little thingsthat he would forget: he went to the doctors and they diagnosed him withAlzheimer’s Disease. It was then a kind of waiting game. All of a sudden about18 months ago he had this major stroke and was in hospital for about a monthand then he came here. Ever since then he has just slowly deteriorated. He usedto be the opposite of what he turned out to be: he never swore; he was alwaysvery kind, always putting everybody else before him; never angry, never cross; verylaid back. Now he can swear at you, he can get angry, and it’s very strange tosee him go the way he has, from never saying boo to a goose, being laid backand nothing ever bothering him to how he is now. I don’t like it; I wish astroke would come and take him away, because there’s no dignity in this. We’vebeen before when he’s been dribbling and there has been blood and it’s not niceto hear him shouting at you when he’s never shouted in his entire life.
My dad used to grow runnerbeans; he had wigwams and I used to sit inside them eating the beans andshortly after his major stroke that’s where he believed he was, he believed hewas picking these beans and I was inside as a child of about six or seven, so Iplayed the fantasy with him and got told off by the doctors. They said, “No,you can’t do that, you have to keep him in reality,” so we tried but he used toget so angry, he was here in his garden digging up his potatoes and so wethought, “What’s the point in making him angry, we might as well be in thegarden with him.” I don’t see why I should upset him, if’s he’s down thecricket field then I’m down there with him. I don’t have to tell him he’s in ahome now. There is this guilt that you’ve put them in a home but we weren’tgiven any choice, when other people go and realise that we didn’t have anychoice it helps in a way because you don’t have to justify yourself. You justhave to accept it, what you say to other people, I don’t know. Sometimes talkingabout it helps, to know you’re not the only one dealing with it but I don’tthink you really think about it; you just have to plod on really.’
Murry passed away shortly after christmas 2011