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Two years ago today, my marvelous aunt Isabel died after complications related to dementia. We never told her that I was gay because she was too old (stupid reason, I know), but during a Christmas at hers there was a beautiful moment of clarity amidst the cloud of confusion. 1/4
Me and my partner spent 2016's Christmas in Portugal, and spent part of the evening at my aunt's, as she was getting quite sick. He was presented as a "friend". When we left, she told my cousin, with the wit she had before dementia: "I know they're more than friends. *wink*" 2/4
In her late eighties, my only regret is that we weren't entirely honest not to upset her. But she knew, and despite the cruelty of dementia, I remember the moments where she was suddenly back there, her old self as witty as ever before, even if for a brief moment. 3/4
I'm an ardent defender of assisted dying. I wouldn't want to exist as a lifeless husk or gripped by suffering. But I know that dementia isn't a straight road, and there are flashes of clarity that allow for a few more memories. It's complicated. I'm happy my aunt is free. 4/4
