My big sister was a special character, full of fun, first on the dance floor, never short of a quip, disarmingly wonderful. The only things that weren’t special about Linda were her needs
the way. And so we are where we are now. Missing her.
I’ve written about loss so often but always as my interpretation of other people’s pain.
It’s the nature of a journalist’s job that we sometimes find ourselves sitting with strangers at the most vulnerable and terrible moments of their lives, listening to them recount stories about the loved one they’ve just lost.
It is a privilege that they allow us such access but, truthfully, it is not part of the job
There were a great many fights and disappointments in the course of getting help with Linda’s illness, and there has been real anger at a system that often didn’t seem to care.
As Alzheimer’s progressed, her care needs became so great that it was impossible to cope on our own at home so she spent the last few years of her life in a care home for the elderly.
There is so little alternative provision for those under- 65s suffering from dementia or who, like Linda, have a pre-existing learning disability.
In her unit of the care home, she was the youngest by about 30 years. My mother visited every day but it was heartbreaking.
At some point, I will take this on, use our experience, Linda’s experience, to make things better for those yet to set foot on a similar journey.
And I will support those organisations who seek to find a cure for this awful disease. Let it come quickly.
But Linda could give lessons in embracing the good things in life. At a family party, she once asked my husband for a glass of champagne. “Champagne,” she insisted. “And I don’t mean Cava.”
This is not a woman I can allow to be forever defined by Alzheimer’s disease. The illness claimed a lot but I won’t let it claim the happiness we shared. And there was so much more of that.
So, for now, I need to concentrate on pulling myself together, protecting those around me, watching daytime TV, ironing, sorting through old photographs, doing any number of mindless things.
And allowing myself to be accosted by grief for my big sister, Linda. In a world of Cava, she was the champagne.