The end.

My grandad has been diagnosed with Alzheimer's for over five years, and if we were being technical about it he's been showing signs for 15 to 20 years. He's contracted covid seven times, we all thought he was indestructible, but this one seems to have hold of him. He has an infection that antibiotics aren't helping, and he's now refusing to eat or drink (this man has always had an appetite). They warned us this could be the progression of the disease, but again he could bounce back. Today we've been told he's been moved to palliative care and is being given end of life medication to help the process. We have no time frame. No gadge on his pain. They haven't said get here now he's going, but end of life medication sort of indicates that's not to far away. The uncertainty is driving me mad. I had just written out his Birthday and Christmas cards. I know if it's his time it's his time, he no longer plays tennis and badminton, he doesn't go to his labour club meetings, he doesn't buy his morning news paper anymore, he doesn't remember me or most of the family, but he was comfortable in his own little world away with the fairies. I know he'll be with my nan, but in the same breath I can't fathom a life without my grandparents in it.