Page 23 of A Forever Home at Honey Bee Croft

‘So you’d get your life back? Because I get the impression it’s been on hold since your mum fell ill.’

A sob caught in my throat and tears ran down my cheeks as I slowly nodded. Marnie had completely nailed it. I’d been so focused on my parents and my job that there’d been nothingleft for me and now there was a very real danger of me having nothing left to give Dad because I was so weary of it all.

‘You’re no good to anyone if you’re exhausted, Poppy,’ Marnie said, her voice gentle, her eyes full of empathy. ‘When was the last time you had a holiday, and I don’t mean the bucket-list trips you did with your mum because they won’t have been relaxing like a regular holiday?’

I wiped my cheeks as I considered it. ‘It’ll have been seven years ago, before Phil and I split up.’

Marnie released a low whistle. ‘That’s a long time without a proper break. So why don’t you take one now? Find yourself a nice little holiday cottage somewhere by the sea or in the countryside and try to relax for a while. Recharge your batteries. Nobody would judge you for it.’

I sighed and nodded. ‘A friend said pretty much the same thing to me on Friday.’

‘And do you trust that person’s opinion?’

‘Very much. But if I did go away, what about Dad?’

‘My team will look after him, he’ll talk to the other residents, our volunteers will engage with him – all the things we do every day, whether a resident has a visitor or not. I know it hurts and I know it sounds harsh, but Stanley has no idea who you are anymore, he doesn’t look forward to your visits, and he doesn’t remember you from one visit to the next. He’d be none the wiser if you visited every other day, once a week, once a fortnight, or if you never visited again.’

‘Oh, I couldn’t do that.’

Marnie smiled. ‘I know you couldn’t, but itisan option and some do take it because visiting becomes too harrowing.’

I sipped on my drink, battling with my guilt. I wanted to get away. Ineededto. But would I spend the whole time feeling guilty that I wasn’t with Dad?

‘I can see it written all over your face,’ Marnie said. ‘Guilt.’

‘How did you…?’

‘I’ve seen it countless times and I’ve felt it myself. Believe me when I say you’ve absolutelynothingto feel guilty about. I can say that to you a million times, but you’re the only one who can give yourself permission to let go of the guilt. You’re also the only one who can give yourself permission to take a break, but I really urge you to do it, and sooner rather than later, because this is gruelling and it’s only going to get worse.’

I thought about Sharon’s friend’s holiday cottage in East Yorkshire. It sounded idyllic. ‘I’m tempted. But what if?—’

‘If there’s asignificantchange in Stanley’s condition, I’d let you know.’

I noted the emphasis on the wordsignificantand knew what that meant. Dad was deteriorating each day and she wouldn’t want to call me back with each change.

‘I’d like to sleep on it,’ I said, ‘but I’m thinking I probably will go.’

‘That would be a good decision.’

I needed to work when I got home but I felt so drained that every task seemed to take twice as long as it should. My conversation with Marnie had moved on to the subject of burnout. I’d claimed that I might be shattered, but I was way off hitting burnout. She’d searched on her phone for a definition and signs of it –physical, emotional and/or mental exhaustion as a result of feeling swamped, lacking motivation, reduced performance, feeling listless, anxiety, negative thoughts about self and others… The list had gone on and, when she finished, she fixed a meaningful gaze on me. I had to concede that I’d either hit burnout or I was very close.

Marnie was right to have challenged me about the need to visit Dad every day. Sharon and Ian had done the same on several occasions. I hadn’t wanted to worry them so had repeatedly assured them I was coping when, deep down, I knew I wasn’t. Marnie had also been right to challenge me about feeling guilty for not visiting. My logical brain knew it was a natural reaction when facing grief and loss but, for me, the guilt cut so much deeper. My parents had sacrificed everything to raise a child in need when they’d never wanted to be parents in the first place. What sort of person would I be if I threw that back in their faces and abandoned them when they needed me? I’d cared for Mum until the end, and I’d do the same for Dad.

That evening, I went into Mum and Dad’s bedroom to close the curtains. I was usually straight in and out but I found myself pausing and looking around. My eyes rested on a rose-gold photo frame on Mum’s dressing table and I took it over to the bed, flicking on the bedside lamp as I sat down and read the embroidered words of Mum’s favourite quote –Do one thing every day that scares you.

‘To give us strength for what’s coming,’ she’d said, smiling at me as she passed her needle through the Aida stretched across an embroidery frame.

It had been a struggle but she’d been adamant she wanted to do it herself, even adding in flowers and bees to frame the words. When Mum was diagnosed with MND, our little family had faced things every day that scared us and I genuinely believe that the positivity that mindset brought – aided by that colourful embroidery sitting by her bed – had helped Mum face the end with strength and dignity. And now with Dad’s Alzheimer’s, every single visit scared me, but every moment I was away from him gave me the fear too. Fear of that phone call. Fear of the end. Fear of who I was when I had no family left. What if I did go awayand that phone call came? But what if I didn’t go and I made myself so ill that I couldn’t be by his side at the end?

I switched the light off and took Mum’s embroidery into my room, placing it by my bed. Going away on my own scared me, but burning out scared me even more. I’d make the phone call tomorrow, take that break, and come back with the energy and strength I was going to need to do for Dad what I’d done for Mum.

8

POPPY

I woke up on Monday morning to a message from Damon sent late the night before.

From Damon

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