Recently I went to Cornwall to look after a cat that belongs to some friends.  I thought it would be a pleasant break but it turned out to be a proper holiday. The weather wasn’t wonderful but the cat sat on my lap and let herself be stroked – mind you, in payment she wanted to be treated like an empress. And indeed, I did obey her every command! But as well as offering pet-therapy, my friends’ house is in a beautiful setting, right on the cliffs just north of Land’s End. I could sit on the couch with the cat on my lap and watch the weather sweeping in over the sea straight from the wild Atlantic Ocean – and it’s true quite a lot of wind, mist and rain did sweep in. But the house was full of interesting books – and the bus stopped right outside so I was able to visit St Ives and Penzance, and even made a 6 hour round trip – which was very scenic, of course – to Truro, where I got a lot of help from the Cornish Family History Society for my research into mum’s family.

Half-way through my visit, I received a text from Liz the Carer, who went into see mum while I was away. She said all was well and they were sitting together, looking at the Postcard of Cornwall that I’d sent to mum. Unfortunately, only a couple of hours later, mum collapsed at the dining table while she was eating lunch. They were helping her walk into the lounge when she collapsed again and fell. The Doctor was called. In fact, by the time I got back the following week, the Doctor had been several times.

When I got back and went in to see her, for the first time ever, she wasn’t sitting in the communal lounge but was still in her room. And she didn’t seem to be interested in my visit. She seemed happy enough, and quite peaceful. Said she was enjoying just sitting and thinking. She talked about me when I was a little girl, but didn’t seem to quite understand that I was that same person, now somewhat older. Sometimes she seemed to think she was talking to her sister and it’s true, I do look like my aunt. But, for me, the main issue was that her energy was very low. And indeed, she told me that she felt ‘worn out’.

A couple of days later it was Mothers’ Day, and so my brother made the effort to come. I didn’t say anything to him but when he returned from visiting her, he was quite down in the mouth. She wasn’t like mum, he said. She seems to have lost her ‘bounce’. I agreed.

Next time I went into the Care Home, the boss took me to one side. The Doctor had said there was nothing specifically wrong with mum that could be treated. Basically, mum has reached the last few months of her life. She is, literally, worn out. But while she doesn’t seem to be completely aware of her surroundings, she does seem calm and happy enough to sit and day dream and drift off to sleep. And she doesn’t think she’s stuck in the Home. No! Some of those day-dreams involve going out to the shops or down to the sea. Which can only be a good thing.

She is very tough old bird, as they say. When I went in yesterday, I was amazed to find her dressed and sitting up in her chair. She thought she still lived in Brixton, in the house where she lived during the war, but otherwise she was bright and very chatty. She was still in her room, but they told me she’d been downstairs to the lounge the day before. So, although she does seem to have gone downhill, this new phase could go on for several moons yet!

The edge of England! And the view from my friends’ cottage.

The cat naturally wanted to sit in the middle of the map when I was trying to find my great-great-great grandparents’ farm!

The mysterious St Michael’s Mount from Penzance and St Ives from the bus station!

If you ever visit St Ives, don’t miss the wonderful Barbara Hepworth Sculpture garden!