Handing my grandad a cup of tea, he smiled at me.
‘Thanks, love,’ he said gratefully. ‘You’re welcome,’ I replied.
We’d always been a tightknit family – me, my mum Michelle, 54, my dad Mark, 55, my brother Daniel, 28, and my grandparents, Bob, 77, and Katherine, 69.
But five years ago, two years into his retirement, Grandad had been diagnosed with vascular dementia.
He was only in his early 70s.
I was living in France, and I hadn’t seen him as regularly as I’d have liked – so I hadn’t noticed the deterioration.
But when I saw him again, changes in him were stark.
He was forgetting simple words, like ‘vegetable’, and he would get lost easily.
It was tough, and I had my own problems, too.
I’d been…
