Our Dad Pete

Our dad Pete has worn many hats. Sparky, sailor, cop, trophy man, Lollipops the cat. Son, brother, husband, father, friend. Every hat he has worn with an impeccable amount of stubbornness. He’s also worn them all with an immense amount of compassion and kindness, and with a wicked sense of humour the most vital.

The Dementia hat he’s worn for the last 7 years has certainly been the most unflattering, but as a family we’ve moved mountains to wear it with him, and with the same level of compassion - and sense of humour- he’s imbued his own life with. No one more so than our mum Gaylene, whose lithe exterior belies a strength to persist that has been quite remarkable.

Though we kept Dad home for as long as possible, in the house so loved and in which he’d lived before he could walk or talk, Dementia has now robbed him of his ability to do either of those things easily (the circle of life eh) and has necessitated his move somewhere else; somewhere he can feel and be safe, and cared for correctly. That is no longer at home.

He has thus been living at Millvale in Waikanae, a place which has provided him lovely care and the best quality of life we could hope for as Dementia swiftly deals its hand. But it doesn’t come for free, and although mum has footed the bill of it herself (turns out a pension barely makes a dent), she is now - like thousands of others- out of work, with no light currently at the end of the unemployment tunnel. The money pot is swiftly running dry.