I was chatting to my mother this afternoon and she asked how long she'd been at the home.
22nd of August 2009 she went there.
She said she didn't remember much about being told she couldn't leave the hospital unless she went to a high level care place and then there was a big rush in the afternoon and she was there.
Even though everyone was so kind that first night, she was so frightened that she cried silently all night, thinking that we would leave her there and not bother with her again.
And she woke the next morning to sunshine and birdsong.
She only told me this now. It was one of the terrors of her entire life, that she would be alone.
Of course we didn't stop going, I felt sometimes I was living there until all the details were finalized.
Twelve months later and I am trawling eBay to buy craft cards and glittery things. She's making and selling greeting, birthday and wedding cards to order. The money she makes she gives to the activities committee. Instead of a woman lying in bed staring at the ceiling, with brain turning to mush, I have a mother who is so busy with living life that I'm being left behind.
Not too far behind, I'm carrying the cheque book.