The journey to the end was a mixture of bright sunny days and dark moments of anguish.

Her final journey was soaked with tears, sadness, joy and relief.

In the weeks that have followed, I have sat looking at the photographs of my beautiful mother-in-law Rosina. They represent a history of a life lived. Early life in a post-war Britain, sitting on the back of a motor-cycle; skipping down the steps of the Church in the embrace of her dear husband; children; summer holidays; cats and dogs; laughter; meals out; Christmases past; birthdays; grandchildren; great-grandchildren; parties.

Memories of recent years reveal a different story, but also the passage of key life events. The four seasons’ rich traditions did not stunt the marking of those events; Easter Eggs, birthday presents and Christmas introduced a new way to celebrate the old. As communication became more difficult, the simple act of touch and embrace maintained the unbreakable bond between Mother and Daughter; Mother & Son.

Almost 12 months ago, we spent our Christmas Day in the warmth and safety of the home where Rosina spent her twilight years. That day was a picture of sadness, poignancy and Christmas fun.

The staff, in their usual enthusiasm, had created a home festooned with colour, decorations, music and laughter; a home that was as normal as any other home on Christmas Day, complete with Turkey and all the trimmings.

Smiles peppered the shouts of anguish from some of the guests at the party, who were calling out for some lost child or family member. Some of the guests remained slumped in their chairs or were to be found wandering aimlessly along its corridors.

Relatives swept through the front door with bundles of presents, with each group acknowledging the other, then quietly engaging with their loved one, providing a loving stroke, a drink, helping them to eat the hearty fare. But no relative, on that Christmas Day, would be unscathed by the experience, they like me, would shed a tear over days gone by and the now lost opportunity of true embrace.

Through all of this, the staff remained a constant source of light and support; the vast majority were from Eastern Europe, gentle, kind and so far away from their own loved-ones.

On Rosina’s final journey, the staff came to bid their own farewell, proving that their sentiment towards Rosina and us was not a mirage.

What follows on from that final journey tethers on the borders of anger. Being witness to the scourge of Dementia focusses the mind on what is important. 

The daily buzz that surrounds us reveals the paralysis of a country and its political class. 

Dementia is political and it should surely be the duty of our politicians to focus on important ways to deal with this growing crisis, instead, we fixate on building and selling weaponry when we should be building Science. 

Political failure has delivered a blame culture upon the ‘foreigners’ in our midst, when we should recognise how selfish our society has become. We should welcome those to our country, who not only provide a valuable service, but remind us about the morality and qualities we have lost as a Nation. 

In crude and perhaps basic terms, our political class should get off their collective consensual butts and not just listen to the needs of the Victims and Survivors of Dementia, but create a National and International crusade against this most disgusting of diseases. Discussions on ‘who will pay’, is not only obscene, but contradicts the reality that when it is important to politicians, they will find a way to pay the bill.

In the early stages of her Dementia, Rosina loved to read the newspapers and we would sit and discuss the state of the world and its politics. My memories of her up until that point was of someone who would only casually engage in politics, but at that point, she revealed an underlying passion and at times disgust, against the political class. Sometimes she expressed very strongly what she would say to the Prime Minister or an MP, about how they were affecting the lives of not just her family, but in particular of all the young people of the country. Rosina would often offer sensible solutions to a given problem, but what captured my attention was her love of human-kind and the absolute need to alleviate the suffering of the young or the old.

Perhaps this is just a simple Christmas wish; perhaps it is Rosina’s wish; is it not time to put away our foolish ways of thinking and deliver the greatness that is within humanity?

As I sit with my family this Christmas, my thoughts will rest with the Victims and Survivors of Dementia, in the hope of a better future for them all. Merry Christmas.