November 2024

And so, we come to the moment I have been dreading. The home which we visited and liked and has been on the horizon for nearly two years now, has sent an email to the effect that a place has become available and they think Lucia will fit in nicely. I go for a visit and sit in the little office with Ana who is in charge and we speak of the philosophy of the place – no restraints, no drugs, no hospice care or hospitals at the end. It is so much more intimate and friendly than the other big ‘residencias’ that house some 300 or more people and look like luxury hotels and in the salon there are a semi-circle of residents, half of them asleep. This is so reminiscent of the places I saw so much of in Hove where every street has half a dozen of these homes. Which is why it is called the Costa Geriatrica.

Here, there are only 17 residents and it is in a quiet side street. Disadvantages – it is 45-minute drive away and, however you parse it, a home is not home. It has no view of the sea which she is used to. I am really fraught. Being a small operation, places are freed up rarely (as residents die off less often) so one is tempted to grab one while available and yet she is not really so bad as to need constant professional care.  I can manage with the brilliant help that I have at home along with the day centre in Bueu, the local town down the hill. Everyone gives contradictory advise which adds up to: you have to decide.

For her it means living among strangers at least at first. For me it means living alone here in a foreign country and regular car journeys round Vigo. I don’t suppose the visits will be intimate in the sense that it seems to be a bit of a community and you are encouraged to interact with the other residents. The terms of our life sentence are changing as I knew they would. There is an authority somewhere controlling our lives, puppets pulling our strings.

It is a life sentence even if one of some comfort. The comfort itself leaves space to think and thinking is a killer.

Then there is the second visit where the talk is of details – medicines, clothes, labelling, equipment, etc. Later, once I am home, comes a long email with questions about paperwork and medical records. I feel as if I am on the edge of whirlpool and am being slowly sucked in  and down into the maelstrom. Try as I might, I cannot escape its pull. As if she is being tugged into a vortex that neither of us wanted but – well, you know situations change and you have to adapt and – the clincher – you will adapt. Yes, well, I suppose she will and I also. People adapt to all sorts of horrors!

So, here’s the thing. Nothing is irrevocable so let’s give it a try. If she grabs my arm and tugs me towards the door I will understand. She is still capable of that. I will go there and leave her against a divine promise not to and will be guilty of a horror quite inexcusable. Forgive me.