Marianne Talbot with her mother I probably came to caring as you did. One minute I was living my life, the next I was enmeshed in the Alice in Wonderland world of social services, memory clinics, aids, appliances and assessments.
It happens every year to thousands of us. Out of nowhere we suddenly find ourselves doing an extraordinary and important job...
...with no training, no preparation, no information, no 'career path'...
...and for nothing, no thanks, no medals, not even any recognition.
My laptop insists 'carer' isn't even a word.
Becoming a carer is like falling through the looking glass: we discover a whole new world, one in which we must believe six impossible things before breakfast.
Why do we do it? Why do we put up with the sleeplessness, the guilt, the resentment, fury, helplessness, rage, hopelessness, misery and fear? Why do we not escape from the admin., the forms, the incompetence and the red-tape? And from the jobsworths, petty bureaucrats and patronising medics? Are we mad?
No. We know why we do it. If we're lucky it's because sometimes - just sometimes - we look at our piglets* and our hearts explode with love. Or a stray word or look generates a memory that makes everything worthwhile. Caring can sometimes seem to be the only job worth doing. The only job that honours the things worth honouring.
Some of us aren't so lucky. I would not have been able to care from duty rather than love. But many of us do. If this is you, maybe you really are a saint? I salute you.
After 12 years of caring there's only one major thing I'd have done differently: I'd have arranged for mum to go into a home earlier.
I was convinced only I could care for her, sure she would be unhappy in a home. I was wrong. A time comes when only demented people provide the right companionship for a person with dementia. A time comes when only professionals will do. A time comes when you must put yourself first. I shouldn't have waited until I hit a brick wall.
For a brief time mum's home gave her a new lease of life.
If my saying this saves you from hitting that brick wall I shall consider my work done.
There's so much else to say. But I have said enough. This is my final blog. I shall miss you. I am sorry I didn't respond to all your messages. Sometimes they were the only thing that made life worth living.
I hope to turn the blog into a book. I hope also to carry on speaking up for carers whenever and wherever I can.
Remember that if you feel you've been forgotten.
* Person I Give Love and Endless Therapy to - See The Selfish Pig's Guide to Caring by Hugh Marriott.