Home | Blogs | The worst day of the year

The worst day of the year

idea.nottingham.ac.uk image: Dementia Day to Day blogs banner

carers, communication

Today is our wedding anniversary. My Husband does not know, and for that I am glad. If he knew, he would be devastated at not having bought and written a card. No-one ever chose cards quite like he did. In all of our years together, I never opened and read one dry eyed.

A handful of cards do arrive, from old faithfuls who still remember the date, bless them. I stand them on the kitchen dresser, where I can see them, but WB can't. Not, of course, that he would notice them even if they were in his direct line of vision.

So, no cards exchanged, no flowers, no celebration meal, no trip out to one of our favourite haunts. Just another day of routine, even drudgery.

I count myself so lucky that I still have my husband. I can see him, kiss him, hold his hand, but today I feel bereaved.

There has not been a single day of our married life when I have not told him that I love him – even before the ubiquitous “love you!” became the standard signing off of a phone call. The last time I told him, instead of his lovely smile in return, he thought for a moment, and then replied, quite firmly “Well, I don't love you!”

I bled inside, but it then transpired that I had not done anything to upset him, but on that particular day, he thought I was Ada.  Ada was a tiresome, interfering neighbour from his very young days, and she has recently appeared on the scene again, in his head, claiming that she is married to him, and owns our bungalow, and his bank account. She is constantly stalking him. Ridiculously, I am insanely jealous, and hate her passionately (although I never met her). I just want her out of his life.

So, I still declare my love, on a daily basis, but I now stroke his head, and tell him, when he is asleep, because that way I cannot get hurt.

In a reverie at the sink, I cannot help but think back to the day we married. It was wonderful in every respect. I made my vows earnestly, though in the euphoria of the day, and the halcyon years which followed, I never really imagined what “...in sickness and in health.” might mean. Even if I had, I would still have made the promise.

The awful sadness of the day is still sitting on heavily on me. I have moved the cards from the kitchen to the sitting room, where I shall not have to see them so much,as I do not often have time to sit in there. They only add to the sadness.

I try to pretend that today is just another day. I am not allowed to cry until tonight, when I am in bed. That is my rule, and  I must keep it.   

Roll on bedtime.

Your comments

You'd be very welcome to leave a comment on this blog post. 

Your comment won't appear straight away as we'll need to check it first: thank you for your patience.

When leaving comments please bear in mind our posting rules.

Add new comment

This is for testing whether or not you are a human visitor and to prevent automated spam submissions.

See more like this


Have you noticed the recent trend for politicians to sing the praises of carers, to acknowledge the billions the save the economy, to recognise they they should have, must have, breaks, and that they need support?

Esther Ayuba

This summer I had a wonderful opportunity to undergo a short placement at the Centre for Dementia at the Institute of Mental Health at The University of Nottingham.

Neil Chadborn

I’ve invited Dr Shibley Rahman (@dr_shibley) to give a seminar as part of our seminar series here at Centre for Dementia, Institute of Mental Health (@InstituteMH).