Nana Maria’s quiet days
My nana Maria is 91 years old. Last year, she moved into a flat adjoining my mothers. My mother is now her main carer, and I, in turn, support her. Nana has dementia, and it is becoming more advanced, and she is now unable to look after herself, not even able to make coffee without a bit of help. She doesn’t feel comfortable to leave the flat anymore, and will likely live out the rest of her days here, health permitting.
But this is not a sad story. At first, I was very uncertain and even afraid of the changing of the seasons, afraid of loss; but a life is as long as a life is. You can’t hasten or slow it. Sometimes you just do what needs to be done.
This is a story about ebb and flow. About duty and loyalty. About support and dependence. About frailty and strength. About continuity and change. About mothers and daughters. About women and care. About finding humour in the human condition. About peace and safety. About letting go and holding on.
This is a quiet story about this chapter in my nana’s life.