Sometimes I post on here when I’ve written a new blog post to share. I thought this one would resonate with a lot of people. It’s a bold post and I have permission from my mother to share it, though not everyone in my family agrees it is a good thing.I will understand and respect entirely if anyone feels that this represents a gross transgression of decency and respect and would invite debate around the issue of how we engage with the end of life, how we cope with the prospect of death and the issue of discolsure and consent in the context of publishing images such as these.

http://www.tearsinrain.co.uk/blog/2018/6/14/nil-by-mouth

That’s a brave blog to post. I have admired some of your portraits on the photo thread. The last one between your mum and him captures a special bond between them. Its rather dusty in here today.

That’s a really lovely post. i’d not lost anyone really close to me until the last couple of years and those losses are still pretty raw.

I think i’d have been conflicted as well if my brother had been pointing a camera about. Looking at those photos and thinking about how I feel, I think he’ll come around eventually.

<span style=”font-size: medium;”>Life ends eventually but while we live, we have to engage it with every fibre of our being. </span>

Nicely put, agreed. Although it does get mighty tiring sometimes.

Bold. Moving.

Thank you for sharing

Thanks Greg.  Very moving.

I lost my father to Alzheimers 3 years ago (I think about 5 years after diagnosis).  My mothers own issues were masked by her caring for him and she was only finally diagnosed last summer (with a mix of alzheimers and vascular dementia and some complicating factors).

It’s tough.

Interesting post to read. My own fathers health is failing rapidly, and the burden of work onto my mother has been tough.

As an only child who lives a decent distance from them, it can be and is exhausting mentally trying to deal with it all sometimes.

I don’t get to see my parents a huge amount, so I really do get to see the deterioration happen inbetween visits. It’s hard to see.

Death needs a conversation with you:

click here to find yours: http://deathcafe.com

Thanks for posting, it was a very moving piece and I’m sure your dad would be proud of you. The photos and words are beautiful.

Grieving is a very personal thing with no right or wrong way (well there probably are a few wrong ways). Having gone through moderately similar recently I’d not want those images or memories. I obviously have a few pictures like that in my mind as it was recent and they are strong memories but I’d rather recall the many wonderful times we shared. Unfortunately those are the ones I don’t have pictures for and are long enough ago to be fading.

Lovely blog Greg, I’d hope he’d be happy for the shgaring of those pics, given the sensitivity and thought-provoking nature of the blog.

Meh. Assuming someone has a power of attorney for his welfare then surely it’s up to them to give permission or not for taking/publishing photos. A very minor moral issue compared to his treatment I’d have thought!

I can kind of understand taking pictures if that helps you “engage” or is somehow cathartic, but publishing them during his demise seems a little disrespectful.

I saw my Nan suffer dementia over many years, I don’t choose to remember her during those years because that’s not who she was. She was the lady who did Saturday tea with a table full of sandwiches and cakes, she was the lady who let me play in her garage with my Grandad’s old tools…. she wasn’t the lady who was plonked infront of the TV 12 hours a day and wheeled downstairs for mealtimes…. her life merely maintained, not lived.

I disagree, the tenderness between his parents despite his father’s illness is something to be documented if not celebrated.  But that’s photography for you.  Contrast with Doug Dubois’ work on his parents who were depressed and on the point of divorce (his mother attempted to take her own life shortly after his photos were made).

My FIL suffered from dementia, and was already ill when I first met him.  He had fought in the Spanish civil war, and would later found one of the ‘ikastolak’, clandestine Basque schools which taught the language despite it being illegal under the dictatorship.  The school was underground in both senses of the word as it began in a basement – these days it has over 2,000 students, one of whom is my 5yo son.  So many discussions I never had the chance to have with him.

Infrequent poster, but this touched me as very close to recent experience for me. Whether its right for you and your family only you can answer. Whether its good for others I say absolutely- I recognise your experiences and share the emotions, and that helps, and for those that haven’t experienced this, it may help seeing that it is sadly “normal”and indeed that there IS still dignity and a spark there in that left eye!

GeeTee.  Very moving indeed.  I can’t think of many posts more personal and honest.  Take care.  Jay

I think that’s a very odd thing to do.

If you’ve discussed it with your bro, and he’s said he’s not happy then there’s no way I’d be going ahead with it anyway.

IMHO his wish for it not to be done would trump your wish for it to be done.

Just my view.

I see tg’s point, but if your mum is in agreement then that outweighs what either of you think. And it is so important that we discuss (and celebrate) the end of a life well lived that i think whether others agree or not, the conversation has to be had at least.

If time does prove to be short, I hope Jeff’s journey is a comfortable one for you all, and you can remember all good memories.

I remember when my gran was nearing the end of her life with dementia although her physical health was fine. She used to feed the dog about 10 times a day and we’d find things like toilet wipes in the fridge. Funny to me as a 10yr old but not so funny a few months later called on Christmas day and she didn’t know who we were and called my grandad David rather than Dad. We all had a little cry that day.

OP – personally, I think your blog is fine and very touching.  But it sounds like you and your family are going through a tough time so the last thing you need now is to fall out with Brother over the blog.

Perhaps it might be a better idea to keep the blog private for now?  And then when the inevitable sad events happen and the dust settles, then ask your Brother again?

I’ve lost both parents recently and my attitude towards the grieving process has changed.  It should be a chance to celebrate the life rather than just concentrating on mourning their passing.  But everyone is different and keeping a blog might just be one step too far when everything is very raw.  Time might change that though.

I’m sorry for the fading of your father.

I see nothing in your blog but honesty and nobility.

the lens seems to cut like a knife through the fog of his dementia and we communicate again. His gaze is fixed and determined and his eyes sparkle.

I agree. I feel I see the man you are hoping to capture in those pictures. It’s in his eyes.

Surely, if strangers like me can see even part of him in this way, it can be nothing but a tribute to the man before the dementia.

<span style=”font-size: 0.8rem;”>What can be bad about that?</span>

A week ago today my Mum died in Barnsley Hospital. She was diagnosed Vascular Dementia about 2 years ago. Her cause of death was Sepsis brought on by by pneumonia. She wasn’t even diagnosed with any infection until it was too late; her dementia had diminished her to the point she couldn’t express herself that well.

My Dad was her carer, yet he was unwell himself and unfortunately died 25th June last year. He succumbed to Sepsis brought on be a chest infection. The tragedy was that he just wasn’t ready to go… the conversation about whether he wanted resuscitating came as an absolute surprise to him. It was a long painful drawn out death where I watched my Dad slowly become a hollow unrecognisable shell. My mum watched on, and despite the dementia she was able to express her sadness and pain.

Anyway, as the months passed I noticed her dementia symptoms accelerated and I’m sad to say she appeared to give up; Dad was her world & his death seemed to be the catalyst that brought her condition on so much faster.

I have no happy or decent memories of this period;  no photos, no nothing. I think I’ve pretty much blanked this period out, though it’s fairly early to say given I’ve lost both parents within a year of one another – I’m glad because it’s a sad painful thing to watch.

Now, whenever I think of my mum, in my minds eye I see her at her feisty best. I don’t see what she became because of the dementia. I kind of understand your brother’s objections; the photos are quite upsetting because of their nature. As much as your brother could choose not to look it’s maybe his wish that nobody should see your Dad like this as his condition declines. Just guessing.

Sorry for the rambling post but my life’s a bit numb at the moment.

Thank you all for the caring and sensitive responses. I also appreciate people saying they don’t agree with what I’ve done because this stimulates the debate and that’s important. I’ve had quite a few personal messages in response to this blog, thanking me for sharing because of the resonance with other personal experiences; reading someone else’s story that is so similar to your own seems to be cathartic.

Bess you all.

There are some very nice photos there – my mother passed on Monday and I took several photos but most won’t be kept as they are a reminder of her condition rather than her ‘life force’, which you seem to have captured.