Four deaths (and maybe a rebirth), again ....

May is shaping up for both Coran and I to be one hell of a month - marred by what seems like one problem after another and chronic tiredness for both of us. The weather does not help, and I am quite certain that if I could experience just a little sunshine, it would make one hell of a difference.

It seems like forever since I wrote this blog. It is not for the want of trying on my part. I have thought about it several times, but the words just didn't seem to come. A sign of depression if ever I saw one.
  

When I think back on it, it all started with that note from the boss back at the beginning of April, but the signs were there a long time before that things were not all that they seemed. Truth be told, work although it has not helped, is really just the tip of the iceberg, and just another stresser to add to the pile. The trouble is, several little things, when put together, add up to make one big thing, and everything seems to have just snowballed at once. It all just seems so very overwhelming, and several times I have found myself retiring to the toilet at work to sit and have a bloody good cry. Reiki breaks have also become a lot more frequent in recent weeks. A lot of people I know seem to be going through something similar, and I suppose knowing this should help, but somehow this time it seems not to.

At the end of April Coran and I were forced to cancel the Olympic edition of the village newsletter that we had spent months planning a little under 2 weeks before the copy deadline. It was a combination of many different things, which although seemingly small, added up to make one big thing. Internal politics with the rest of the committee played a part, but the final nail in the coffin was the reaction to my April Fool and the abusive calls I received, which made it abundantly clear that the villagers are not behind the Games and do not want an Olympic issue. Communication problems with LOCOG (Locally Organised Chaos Optimisation Group) did not help either, as they made it impossible for us to sell it anywhere other than the outlets that we already use, seeming to put up barriers everywhere that we looked. In the end, given the lack of response from villagers (I had been asking for articles for months, and received just two in all that time), it became clear that to continue would be counter productive. Something in short had to give before I did, and that something proved to be the Olympic issue. 

To say that I am sad about this is an understatement, as I estimate that between the two of us, Coran and I had spent in excess of 100 hours work on this issue. We had always known that we would be expected to shoulder the bulk of the work, despite assurances from the rest of the team that they would help, so it was no surprise to find that they came up with plenty of ideas but provided nothing to back them up with. We had so many hopes and plans for this issue though, which was to be my last - we managed to talk a professional journalist into helping us, and even got Sebastien Coe to write the foreword, but it was not to be.

The aforementioned journalist commented in the aftermath of this that the village people (village idiots more like) do not deserve us, and I believe that he is right. We did an interview (more of a comment piece really) with him last week to be published in the magazine that he works for, and I look forward to seeing a copy when it comes out this or next week.   

At the same time that all of this has been going on, Coran hurt her back. I am not sure how it happened, but one day she was bending down in the shower to pick up the soap, and it just went. She thinks now that it may have been due to the most recent anti tetosterone injection, which may have inadvertently hit a nerve, since the pain seemed to emanate from the exact same region where the injection was administered. Given that it contains a slow release gel, one would expect it to take several weeks to show up, and the pain seemed to develop almost exactly three weeks later.    

Twice though I had to call an ambulance in the middle of the night, and twice I has to take time off work. The staff were of course wonderful and very supportive, but this does not make up for the stress or the lack of sleep. After having been up all night, and finally leaving the hospital at 9am, I remember commenting to Coran that I was surprised  I did not feel more tired. Then it dawned on me, that tired had become my normal state, to the extent that I no longer recognise when I am tired. This really made me stop and think about the effect that my job has on me, and yet I am still loathe to give it up.

Why you may ask yourself is this - the reason is because it makes such a difference to the lives of so many different people, and is the most rewarding thing (in terms of everything except money) that I ever done.  If you want proof of this, one of our residents passed away last weekend, and a week before she died, I sat with her for 10 minutes stroking her hand and talking to her. She turned her head (she was lying in bed) and looked at me, straight in the eye and smiled, and I felt this surge of energy move towards us as both of our hearts opened simultaneously at the same time. We did not need to say anything, as each of us instinctively understood what was taking place, an exchange of pure heart energy, of compassion and unconditonal love.

This particular lady who was only in the home for a short while (about 10 weeks), seems to have had a really deep effect on me, and I still cannot figure out why and what the connection was, for it is clear that there was one. There seemed to be this sense of recognition almost from the first time that I saw her, almost like meeting up with a long lost friend. I don't know whether she was someone from a former life perhaps, but whatever it was, she has really left her mark, for I was very, very upset when she passed away. 

I have never done this before, but I really felt the need to say goodbye to her in person, so I sneaked into her room, where the body still lay, kissed my hand and placed it gently on her brow and whispered some words of goodbye to help send her on her way. It was distressing in some ways to do that, to see her there lying cold and stiff, with yellowed flesh (apprently this is normal with frail and elderly people) and she was both of these, but I am glad that I did it, for I really felt that I needed to do this. As the day wore on, I kept smelling the perfume that she used to wear, and that I believe was also her, acknowledging what I had done for her, and letting me know that she was watching me, and was making that transition to another place, where she was no longer in pain.   

This lady though seems to have a particularly interesting life. She was married at a young age to a Baron no less, and her son through that marriage went on to inherit the title, after many years of being an MP. He now sits in the House of Lords and is also ironically on the Board of LOCOG. I did not get to meet him in person as he always visited when I wasn't there, but I got to know his sister a little, and some of June's friends (she had the same name as myself, even more ironically, or perhaps not). 

I do not know if I will ever understand what the connection was that she and I shared, but she does seem to have effected me greatly during the short time that she was there. What surprised me more than anything was the fact that her family seemed so upper class and posh compared to myself and those that I know, yet June herself did not seem like this. She seemed very down to earth, and despite her ill health and fraility, very, very lucid. She knew exactly what was going on around her, and she also knew exactly who I was. She gave us a few scares, and at one time the family even called a Priest to adminster the last rites, but she always seemed to bounce back. I remember saying to her that she and I were the same, both fighters, and she looked right at me, smiled and nodded her head. She knew then who I was and why I was there, even if I did not, and in the end perhaps it does not matter. If the opportunity does arise, I would though like to attend the funeral to say a final farewell and also to find more out about her life. If I am meant to go, then the opporutnity will be there.

This was in fact the first of several deaths this week - we have since had two more, both on the same day. Neither affected me nearly as much as this first one, since I did not really know the other two ladies, one had been with us for a week, and had terminal cancer. Three deaths in as many days does though affect the energy of the home, when most are already under stress. I just hope that the weather improves  before my trip to the Isles of Scilly in three weeks, as right now, this is about the only thing that is keeping me going.  

Let's see who's really boss !

Well, it has certainly been an interesting month for me, and we are still only a couple of days in.

As this will be my last year as Editor of the village newsletter, I decided to play an April fool on the readers, informing them that the access road to the village is being converted to one way in order to save the Council money - the logic being that if drivers use the middle of the road, potholes around the edge will no longer have to be repaired. People only believed it and started ringing the Council ! My own phone has been ringing off the wall with people suspecting that it "may" be an ApriI Fool, but wanting to check anyway ... I had one call from a man who was most irate and informed me that the joke was in very bad taste, before slamming down the phone ! He seriously needs a sense of humour, not to mention a life ! Personally I think it's hilarious.

The other news is re work. When I went in on Sunday, after having been the only housekeeper on duty the previous day, as is the norm now at weekends, I was informed that our Director had been moaning about the way in which the tables had been laid. Further investigations revealed a note in the housekeeping book to the effect that this had been "a shocking layout" and that in his own words, "this lazy and slothful behaviour will not be tolerated". Well, considering the way that I work, and the fact that only last week the residents were singing my praises at their monthly meeting, I really saw red. It is one thing to write notes, but quite another to make them personal. He knew full well that I was the only housekeeper on duty that weekend, so this was therefore a personal attack aimed directly at me. When you begin to make personal remarks of this nature, it verges on bullying and this is somehting that should not be tolerated. He should know that the comapny that he set up has rules in place to protect the staff from this sort of thing. As such, this is something that I was and am not prepared to tolerate, no matter how high up he is.

So, for the most of Sunday I was spitting blood. I said to the Administrator, who arrived just as I was leaving to do the wages for the previous month, that I did not know whether to cry or hit something soft. She said that she knew exactly how I felt - the voice of experience, as I have seen him make her cry on more than one occasion.

So after having mulled it over, and discussed it with Coran after I got home, yesterday morning I went and spoke to our Acting Manager (the real Manager is on leave of absence, rumour has it, pending investigations to do with some complaints). The Director has never liked her, and has been trying to get rid of her since the day she started - their personalities clashed from day one, so there is definately something going on there. Whatever it is, it has no doubt added to his stress,  but this does not in any way excuse his behaviour.

Anyway, the Acting Manager listened, was very understanding and said that she would speak to the Director on my behalf. When he came in later, my heart was beating like mad, but I stayed out of his way and let her deal with it. I was in the laundry folding towels when he left. He walked past me on his way out with a face like thunder, and said "Oh, and next weekend, make sure the tables are laid correctly". This set my pain body off all over again, and much to my chagrin, I sat on the toilet and cried.

After a few minutes I pulled myself together and realised how futile this way - by reacting the way that I did I had given my power back to him all over again. For a few moments I pondered as to whether he had gone, and whether I should find him and add some comments of my own, but I realised that if I did, I would be playing exactly the same game, and this would not be appropriate. So, I pulled myself together, washed my face and got on with my work.

When I took the towels upstairs, the Acting Manager was there with the drugs trolley. She informed me that she had indeed spoken to him, and he had not liked it - too bad ! I told her what he in turn had said to me, and taking full control of the situation, and reclaiming my power, stated that if he ever does anything like this ever again, I will issue a formal written complaint so fast that it will make his head spin !

When I got home Coran was on his way out to the meditation group, so I came and joined him, and after discussing it with the rest of the group and of course meditating for half an hour, felt a lot calmer. They all agreed that I had done absolutely the right thing.

When I got to work this morning, the Acting Manager asked me how I was. I told her I was a lot calmer, and that I was pretty angry yesterday, to which she said she had noticed! I added that that did not mean that I had not meant what I said, and she said that she understood that and that in her opinion my reaction has been completely justfied.

So, when the Director came in today, I again tried to stay out of his way, but on the way out he found me again and this time stated that he had repeatedly asked the housekeepers not to leave their mop and bucket by the outside wall visible from the dining room, as it put the residents off ! What a stupid man. I replied that I was not aware of this instruction, but now that I was would make sure the mop was kept elsewhere. I promptly left a note in the housekeeping book to that effect, and after he had gone, went and sat on the toilet and laughed !

I feel very good though knowing that I have put down my boundaries and fired a warning shot as it were across the bows. He knows now exactly where I am coming from, and will be in no doubt whatsoever as to what the consequences of such behavour will be, if there is any hint of a repetition. Like most bosses, he likes to think that he is in charge, and throws his weight around every so often, but he hasn't learnt that the staff are really in charge, as they do the job and generate his hefty income. Were it not for us, who are willing to clear up mess for 5 percent above minimum wage, he wouldn't have a business. He hasn't learnt this yet, but he will, with a little guidance from me !

RIP Mrs B

It is an undeniable fact, that when you work in a nursing home as I do, at some point you are going to encounter death. During the 2 years and 11 months that I have spent working in the industry, I have encountered it 29 times, the latest being this weekend. You would have thought by now that I would have found a way to cope with it, and to some extent I have.

When I first started work here, back in May 2009, I used to get very upset each time it happened, but as the months and the years have gone by, I find that it affects me less and less. I am not always sure that this is a good thing. The extent to which it affects me seems to vary enormously depending on how close I was to the deceased.

It is inevitable in an environment such as this that you will form emotional attachments to the residents, as when you spend such a large amount of what could be considered quite intimate time with them,  even a housekeeper such as myself. Thus it is that I find myself today mourning the loss of the latest one - a lady whom I shall refer to as Mrs B.

Mrs B it has to be said lived life very much to the full. She was a large lady in more ways than one - with a huge heart and a bulk to match. She did not enjoy the best of health, but we did our best to make her as comfortable and happy as we could, and I like to think that we did a pretty good job.

Mrs B was a hairdresser by trade, and I suspect that this was the reason for her badly misshapen hands, that looked as if she were still holding a pair of scissors. Because of this she has trouble turning the pages of books, and doing many of the little things that we take for granted, but she accepted these limitations with good grace, looking forward to regular visits from her four devoted sons.

As we all do, she had her dark days, when she used to sit and think back to happier times with her beloved husband and dogs. When she got like this, I used to sit and reassure her, and we often pondered together on the meaning of life. Barely one month before she died, we had a conversation as to whether she believed in the afterlife, and whether when she passed over, she believed that would see her darling husband again, and she told me that she did. I like to think then that she is back with him now, happy and free from pain, with a big smile on her face.

She did have happy times as well, during the four years that she spent at the home, happy times chatting with friends, with a glass of white wine. She soent hours regailing me with stories about her parents and her grandchildren and the funny little things that they used to say, but when she was truly happy, she loved to sing, and the sound of her voice would resonate throughout the house.

Like many elderly ladies of her age (she celebrated her 90th birthday just before Christmas), she did not enjoy the best of health. Us housekeepers are not told all the details, since we do not really need to know, but for the past year she had been repeatedly saying that she felt unwell. The Doctors were called many times, but most of the aches and pains from what I gather, were put down to old age.

When I went to Lundy at the beginning of March, she seemed her usual self, but when I returned 12 days later, I was told that she had developed a chest infection and had taken to her bed. She did not recover and passed away peacefully during the morning of Saturday March 24th.

Looking back on that conversation that Mrs B and I had, barely one month ago, I think she was preparing herself for death even then, as then the end came, it came relatively quickly. Her son remained at her bedside during most of last week, as did his brothers, when they were able to visit and their own children too, so she died peacefully and in the company of those we loved. In the end  I suppose that is all that we can ask for.

When I left work on Friday at 2pm, I had a feeling that I would not see her again, so I said my mental goodbyes and was not surprised to come in this morning after a weekend off, and be given the news. I was promptly given the job of bagging up all her belongings, something I had not done before.

Going into her room, what had been her sacred space, felt like almost an intrusion, even though her prescence could no longer be felt. The speed with which this had to be done seemed disrespectful in some ways, but I had been informed that I had to do this, as her family will be coming tomorrow to collect her effects, and so it had to be done. It left me feeling quite tearful and upset, but when I stopped to think about it, it was the universe's way of providing me with the opportunity to say my own final goodbye, for in the process of bagging up all those belongings, with each photograph and each item of jewellery I placed in the bags and boxes, I was letting her go.

The grieving process for me usually takes a day or so, after which things slowly settle back into a normal routine and I am sure that this will be no exception. The hard part is always seeing the family afterwards and saying goodbye to them, for you become as attached to them as you do the person who had died, but my thoughts are with them at this difficult time.

RIP Mrs B.     

The countdown begins

It is hard to believe that this time last week I was back in the cottage on Lundy, having got out of the shower (and of course bed), ready to start clearing up for the next incumbent. It is a tradition for me to leave the cottage as clean and tidy as I found it, which means cleaning the kitchen and bathroom, emptying bins and stripping down the bed - pity I am not so tidy in my own house, but then again, I do clean other people's rooms for a living.

Since I returned to work on Monday, I have done my best not to get stressed with all the mind talk and chatter that inevitably comes with the material, 3D world. Sometimes it is hard to be part of the world, but not quite part of it - I guess though this comes with the territory of a spiritual existence, which is why a retreat like Lundy does me so much good. There was a reason why I used to go there three times a year, every four months - in order to top up the batteries ready for the next onslaught of 3D existence, now I am quite literally back in the fray, working alongside those who outwardly at least are not spiritual at all, these regular retreats have become even more important. Sadly though, the funds are just not there to make it happen, at least not without making other sacrifices, and there are only so may that you can make.

After three years in the same job without a pay rise, if one is not forthcoming this year, I might have to seriously consider moving on. At least it looks as if we may have a new Editor for the village newsletter that I edit though. We have been searching for almost four months now, and then all of a sudden, like busses two enquiries came along at once - both are from ladies who live around the Hill - one is retired and married to a former journalist, while the other works part time as a Medcial Secretary. I think what swayed it for her was the article I wrote in the last issue stating that anyone who had worked as a Secretary would have the skills to do this job. That is probably true, as most people I have found can write - the difficult part comes from doing it in the right way and knowing what questions to ask, but if you know anything about people, then this too comes naturally. As for the desk side of the job - like I said, if you have worked as a sectetary then you will have the necessary skills - what we need is a touch typist, someone who knows their way around MS Office (Internet, E-mail, Word etc) and knows basic photo editing software. Like I said, anyone who works as a secretary has these skills.

As we get closer to the Olympics, it it though more and more important that a new Editor is found, as it is not that long to the Olympic special - the copy deadline is May 15th, which is only 2 months away, and after that I shall be retiring. So you see, time is of the essence, and the sooner one of these two ladies makes a committment the better. There will be a long break of three months over the summer months for them to acclimatise to the role and get to know people around the Hill, and of course the other local press, as the next issue will not be until September, but once I have gone there will be only so much support I can give. This role is unpaid, so I have to concentrate on the one that brings money in - my paid job at the nursing home. I will miss being Editor, and the rest of the team, but after five years, my time is done, and it really is time to move on.

Today though is a day off, before I go back to work for a seven day stretch (and it will be stretched as our Kitchen Assistant is on holiday, which means being the only housekeeper on duty for a few days and helping out inexperienced staff who do not normally work in the Kitchen and will be covering for him). For the moment though, the hairdresser is due around 9.30am and Coran will be off to the weekly computer club where she volunteers, so the rest of the day is mine to do with as I will. I think a trip to Polesden Lacey to sit in the sun (or perhaps the car) might be in order, depending on what the weather brings. When it comes to 11am I will think wistfully back though to that magical island that I left behind at Hartland Point exactly one week ago.      

A return to mainland living

At the beginning of this year I decided that my New Year Resolution would be to write considerably more on this blog, but here we are three months into the New Year with barely more than a few posts. All those good intentions went straight out of th window, swallowed as usual by the day to day routine of going to work, cooking, eating and sleeping, for that is pretty much the routine that I settled into over the long, dark winter months. Now that winter is coming to an end, the light is beginning to return into my life in more ways than one. There is a spring in my step as I begin to unwake from what has seemed at times like a hibernation, except of course that unlike the animal kingdom that has a lot more sense than we do, we do not go to sleep during those cold, dark times, but work even harder than during the long summer nights. I sometimes think that the animals have a lot more sense than we do.

But, spring is most definately in the air, despite the continued cold, and boy was it cold, during my recent sojourn on the beautiful island of Lundy. The island for those who do not know, or are not familar with this blog, is situated in the Bristol Channel, that body of water that seperates the Welsh and North Devon coasts, the nearest landfall to the west side being North America. As such, the island is whipped frequently from all four quarters by the ferocious Atlantic winds.

Some would say that I am mad to even contemplate going to such a place, but they are safe and sound for the most part tucked up in their padded cells. I jest. It takes all sorts to make this world, and if they are happier to bake themselves to a crisp along with hundreds of others on some southern European beach and get drunk with their friends, then that means there is all the more of Lundy for me to enjoy.

Lundy is one of those places where the stillness and the silence just hits you seeping slowly into your consciousness, until there is nothing left, nothing that it except yourself, for that is the gift that the island brings, the gift to know that although you may be alone, you are never truly alone in the company of nature. The sound of the sea and the birds as they wheel through the air is all encompassing, as you walk surrounded by nature on all sides - the green, or at this time of year, brown of the island surrounded by blue, blue sea and the smooth rocks below, a playground for the terrestrial animals that inhabit the island. Lundy gives me the opportunity to completely relax, away from the trappings of modern life for a week, or maybe two, and be busy doing absolutely nothing.

I returned from the island on Friday, on the helicopter via Hartland Point, and already it seems like a lifetime ago. During the 17 years that I have spent visitng the island, and I have been many times, I have pondered many times on the significance of this very special place, and the hold that it appears to have in my heart. It represents so much - but most of all the freedom to be truly be myself. There is wonderful sense of freedom and openness that the island brings, to stand on the highest ppint with the wind streaming through my hair and to feel the salt sea spray on my lips stinging my skin is such an experience that you cannot describe. Descriptions as always lessen the intensity. One has to go to the island to experience it for oneself.

The irony is that this haven, this sanctuary, this unique way of life could not exist were it not for mainland life, for the islanders depend on the mainland for everything - the pilots who fly the helicopters and the Captain of the island's boat are the islands lifeline, keeping them fed, watered and clothed and ensuirng their survival. Without these services, none of it would be possible, so to those men and women, I am eternally grateful.

I am also eternally grateful to my own employers, for giving me the means to escape to this sanctuary when I feel the need, and providing me with the time in which to do so. The last week went by as always in a whirl, and it seems no time at all since I was driving down the M5 towards Hartland and the North Devon coast to make my way to another week of adventures. Is this though the real world, and my real life, I wish that it were so, but I know that it it not - time spent on Lundy, as in other holidays can only ever be a respite, and I am grateful that it is so, for it is the knowledge of that limitation that makes it all the more precious, and gives it all the more meaning. So, when I return to work tomorrow I will not be sad, but grateful for every precious minute that I spent on that wondrous piece of granite, and I shall be counting down the days until the next trip to the Isles of Scilly in June.

You don't have to be mad to work here (or try and get to work), but it helps!

God that was a hairy moment. I thought I had deleted the wrong Google account by mistake with access to more than five years worth of blog posts, but thankfully adding a new email address to the account saved the day, and I can once again access things. I won't be making that mistake again!

As I write, along with others around the UK, our garden and indeed the area where I live, is swathed in a blanket snow. Along with no doubt quite a few others, I have also been unable to get to work. I had good intentions of trying to get there, and had of course seen and heard the weather warnings which remain in place throughout the country. Accordingly then, the alarm was set for 10 minutes early, with my car facing forwards rather than backwards, allowing me to drive straight out - or so I thought. When I looked out the window just after 7pm last night and saw a light dusting on the roof I was not too worried, but then I woke up again just after 1am and saw several inches, I was.

By the time the alarm went off just before 6am, we had around 8 inches of the stuff and it was still coming down. Against my better judgement I jumped out of bed and into the shower, and got dresed as quickly as I could, while assembling an emergency travel kit (sleeping bag, water, food etc) just in case. Coran went outside to start removing the snow while I did this. By the time I joined him outside the snow had stopped, and he was making good progress with the car, if not the driveway. I telephoned work to let them know that I was attempting to make it in, but was not too hopeful and that there may be another call, all the while trying not to feel too guilty about letting them down (bear in mind that I was the only housekeeper rostered for duty today, and a nursing home is of course no ordinary workplace - residents need feeding and taking care of no matter what the weather).

We eventually got the car started and off I went - up to the main road to see what the state of play was there. So well, so good, except that when I got there of course I had to stop to make sure it was clear, and that was when I got stuck. No ammount of revs would free me. So into reverse gear I went and tried another way, only to get stuck again. By this time Coran, who had been following me on foot, had caught up, and so being an older and more experienced driver than I, hopped into the drivers seat and after a lot of hoo-ha, finally managed to reverse all the way back home, and then back round to where we had got stuck in full throttle.

This time he managed to hit the main road, in the manner of speaking, running and so off we went galiantly setting out to clean those residents rooms and wash their dirty clothes. The problem was, that none of the roads had been gritted, and as we were the only ones to be out and about (and that stupid) so early in the morning, so the road was covered in what I can only describe as thick white slush. There was one motorcylist trying like us to get somewhere, but he soon gave up, and pushed his bike along the road. By the time we got up the roundabout, slipping and sliding all over the place, we reluctantly decided to do the same thing. I then had to phone work and tell them the bad news.

As I write, the skies are beginning to clear, so I am hopeful for tomorrow, and there has been no more of the white stuff - yet, but of course, a lot can change. My car has been left up by the main office in readiness for tomorrow, and after lunch Coran and I will walk up there and try and turn it round, but other than that, all we can do it wait and hope.

The start of a New Year

Well what a year 2011 turned out to be - who would have thought 12 months from now that so many changes would have occured not just within our own country, but on the world stage. The most important of these for me at least has to be the Arab Spring and the fall of the Egyptian and Libyan regimes. The world now waits with bated breath to see what changes (if any) will occur in North Korea, the world's one remaining hereditary communist state.

From a personal point of view, the greatest challenge that I had to deal with was that regarding my sister and the very painful decision to let her go. I had been putting this off for some time, but when it finally came, and the pain had settled (and it was a very intense emotional pain and a grieving process for both Coran and I), both of us were left with a sense of relief, a sense of relief that both of us were free from the chains and the restrictions that we had allowed her to place around our hearts. In so doing, I know that she is now free to persue her own path too, in whatever form that takes. She still writes to us from time to time, and the letters hold no punches, tugging for the minutes that it takes to read them at the heartstrings, but I cannot and will now allow her to weedle her way back in, for I know that even if I do, it will not make a difference to her life, not one that really counts. When the chips are down, it is only her that can change her situation, by being willing to talk and explore the depths of her emotions. Until she is able and willing to do that, then nothing will change, and I have nothing else to say. I know that I did everything I could to help her, and every atempt that I made was thwarted, and sometimes you have to know when to let go.

On the subject of letting go, we have also let go of more than our fair share of residents at work this year - I cannot of course mention names, but there were at least eight or nine of them last year - some of the deaths were more sudden and unexpected than others, and some I miss more than others too.

Death does not seem to affect me as much as it did when I first started this job, and I am not sure when or why this changed. I think it was after last Christmas(2010) when one lady that I was very fond of passed away. It was a slow and painful death, watching her gradually fade over a period of weeks, so when it finally came on Christmas Day, it was in many ways a relief, for the family as well as the staff. I will always remember this lady though, and I will always remember the gentleman who passed away a few days before Christmas this year. He was a war veteran, from one of the parachute regiments in France, and had a long and eventful life with two sons and a step daughter. I spoke to his son the day before his father died and asked him how he was bearing up and it turned into one of those philosophical conversations about the nature of life and death and many different things in between. It is good to know that I can help poeple with words, both written and spoken and in my own small way, make a difference.

So, back to 2012. Will this be the year that we as David Camneron put it "go for it" and if so, then what exactly it "is?". "It" for me is the same thing that it has always been, about the relationships that I have with others, and knowing that when all is said and done, this is the one thing that counts. It is not about aiming for bigger and better, more expensive things, but all about quality of life, and it is more than anything the poeple in our lives that give that quality. So on that note, I am going to take a short walk back to the living room, where the person that I love is waiting for me, and give her a great big cuddle to show my appreciation and thanks.