 Grandad's visits always started with that familiar knock – not on the front door like everyone else, but on the window as he peered through with a smile. With a mint Viennetta ice cream in hand too, of course. We'd spend afternoons playing Monopoly with him, then my brother would verse him at chess. Throughout it all, he'd make the whole family laugh. His sense of humour meant he was one of my comedy idols. He was my biggest supporter in the audience of every amateur dramatic play and wrote me congratulations cards telling me how much of a star he thought I was. Later in my life, he always lovingly asked about how my acting career was going too. People think dementia takes all this away – and it's true that the disease can dramatically change a person – but there were still remnants of him right up until his very end. Grandad was my biggest supporter (Picture: Maddy Smedley) I count myself lucky that I got to work in the care home he spent his final days in. I was able to properly say goodbye to him and share some last beautiful memories together. This is something I'll cherish forever. I don't really remember the very early signs of dementia in Grandad, but Mum does. She told me that they'd go for a coffee and his mind would go blank or he'd ask where he was. That's when they took him to the doctor to do some tests. He was incredibly smart, so he was great with recognising numbers. However, when applying that to a clock face, he couldn't do it. He was diagnosed with dementia shortly after this at age 75, which was about 13 years ago. One of the first times I specifically remember realising that Grandad was acting out of character was when he called our home phone – which only he did – and asked me if I wouldn't mind passing on that he couldn't go to the Olympics that day, he wasn't feeling up to it. So I agreed to pass that onto the Olympic team. He really did make me l){kind=link}
NEWS… BUT NOT AS YOU KNOW IT
Grandad’s visits always started with that familiar knock – not on the front door like everyone else, but on the window as he peered through with a smile.
With a mint Viennetta ice cream in hand too, of course.
We’d spend afternoons playing Monopoly with him, then my brother would verse him at chess. Throughout it all, he’d make the whole family laugh. His sense of humour meant he was one of my comedy idols.
He was my biggest supporter in the audience of every amateur dramatic play and wrote me congratulations cards telling me how much of a star he thought I was. Later in my life, he always lovingly asked about how my acting career was going too.