My father, a handful of spoons and his journey into dementia

Looking through old cutlery was a safe haven for my dad after he became lost in ‘dementia land’

The days are long in Dad’s house in the last year of his life. He is mostly asleep in a hospital bed in the corner of the room, while I sit quietly on the sofa hoping he sleeps a little longer. I sit watching him, worrying he’s stopped breathing, listening to the radio playing pop songs that transform the room into a time machine. “Catch a bright star and place it on your forehead…”, T Rex’s Ride a White Swan transports me back to 1970, watching Top of the Pops in this room, Dad teasing us about Marc Bolan’s shoes or Noddy Holder’s trousers.

When he wakes up, I ask him if he remembers the song. He shakes his head slowly. “I don’t remember anything…” Even trying to remember is too difficult and so, as the song fades away, we fall back into silence until he asks if we can look at spoons.

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