Why I did it

There are moments in life when we sometimes act on an impulse. That might be true of me back in Easter 2013.

I had spent a decade looking after my parents. My father had suffered from night-time seizures from the age of 70, back in 2002.That heralded a decade of never being away from home for any length of time. It coincided in the break up of my relationship, and also with the beginning of my second degree. For one reason or another, travel was completely out the window. I had to take on the process of first running, then winding down my Dad’s small business and turning it into a property portfolio.  Five years later, at the age of 75, his health went downhill so badly that he landed up in hospital with an infection and suffered a catalogue of disasters ranging from getting C.Difficile, to falling and breaking his right arm in four places. His kidneys packed up, and we were told to prepare for the worst.

Being stubborn, and determined to defend what little family I had, I put up a fight. Dad was airlifted, and stuck on dialysis at Raigmore Hospital. He was lucky- he survived. On the other hand his mobility and his cognitive processes were impaired, and when he was allowed home six months later, it was on the understanding that it would not be to our family home in West Banks- but to a new build which I’d acquired by selling my flat, grabbing my parents’ savings and getting it ready in a race against time. Mum had her own issues, struggling with osteoporosis and stressed at living with Dad- as he now was. She was used to him being a control freak, but the person he had become- childlike and chaotic was beyond her comprehension.

Mum made her will eighteen months later- and died a week after that- having simply had enough.

We kept going for four years after that, with Dad surviving fall after fall; a hip fracture; other infections, and dementia to the point I nicknamed him Lazarus.  And back in April 18^th 2013, his luck finally ran out.

I am in a unique position. I have no siblings, no partner and no children. My nearest relatives are six cousins, only three of whom are in contact with me. However, unlike my parents, I’m fortunate to have some very good friends, some of whom have known me all of my life. Three lovely men each gave me a day of just being there. One took me round an art gallery and let me talk about how scared I was. Another dragged me off to Aviemore to look at squirrels and think about the stuff that Dad loved. A third, who hasn’t known me that long, but has a habit of turning up like the 7^th Cavalry when things really get tough got me to ask the difficult questions and then with infinite kindness was there for me when after the funeral, I’d been left to pull myself together .

Two female friends threw down a challenge. I was to renew my out of date passport and book on to an activity holiday, somewhere I’d never been, and wanted to see. It was uber scary because whatever I chose, I had to do entirely alone.

The Watermill in Posara is owned by Bill and Lois Breckon, a couple based in Florence who host writing and painting courses, often with a celebrity tutor. In my case it was Laurence Marks- a writer for whom I have huge admiration as along with Maurice Gran, he has worked on projects ranging from ‘Love Hurts’, to ‘Birds of a Feather’.  He is a journalist, and these days he writes for musical theatre. True Renaissance Man- and combined with Tuscany, and the prospect of a day in Florence, I signed up, took a deep breath and headed for the hills.