Anni Jennings

Family part 1- Day11

Patrick was still working and off to play pool for the evening, I know he would have come got me, driven me home then go back into town again for pool without hesitation but I didn’t want him to have to so I called my sister. I was hot and bothered, from the first walk and my ordeal. She was able to pick me up and drive me home. 

I had been pondering today, on that first walk through town, part way around the lake, and around the old cemetery, about family and how we are still all in the same town. I had moved away for years but came back. And her we all were living so close to each other.

I pondered our dynamics, not being a particularly close family but somehow being pretty close because we’re family. There are individual connections and just connection because we’re related. I am obviously pretty close to Dad. I just always have been, he was always my go to and the one who just got me more than the others, we seemed to think in similar ways and have similar values on things. We both like literature, the arts, and had similar political views. Dad was always my confidant and I could talk to him about anything really. Sometimes, being a Dad, he’d try to solve it, sometimes he’d admit he was at a loss, and mostly he just listened. I traveled a lot with Dad, even living in Germany with him for 3 months, we would enjoy the same things, museums, art galleries, old churches, old buildings and beautiful places (gardens for me). He irritated the hell put if me, but he was my Dad and pretty cool to be around. In most family photos when I’m a kid, I’m hanging off Dad. 

I was a different kind of close to Mum, she wasn’t warm and fluffy, I never remember hugging her, or being hugged by her, I don’t recall her telling me she loved me or that she was proud of me, I expected this from a Mum so it was disappointing to me. I told her once I loved her, when I was 31, it felt super odd, and I had to get pretty drunk to do so (I told her a big secret I was carrying too so it wasn’t the full intention). I spent my childhood thinking I was a nuisance to her. But she was good at keeping me around, and she was good at showing her love through acts of service, they were often practical, but thoughtful I guess, and she was one who would throw money at problems once she had enough to do so (I more than often did not accept). Gardening was our connection, she taught me a lot about gardening just through osmosis! Watching her, listening, helping out and chatting, going to nurseries and visiting gardens. We visited family together and that just seemed like her thing. But I could never talk to her like I could with Dad. She would listen but always turn the conversation back to her and that frustrated me. I knew she could never give me the warmth I was seeking from her, but I kept trying, but it didn’t mean we weren’t connected, just not how I wanted to connect.

My siblings and I aren’t necessarily close and don’t always get along, but on the surface we do, we have our moments. But if you ask for something they will often be there. And well sometimes not, as I worked out when it came time to care for Dad. 

I am the eldest daughter and so where does the care fall- to me. The dynamics when a family member is unwell is odd, and I hear this from many people. Someone has to step up, and it feels like others take two steps back. But I think this is something to ponder tomorrow. 

I love my parents very much, they’re both odd characters, but Dad was very much the kind of Dad a lost, shy girl needed- most of the time. We drifted at times, and the last 20 years weren’t as easy to be connected to him. There were definitely times he was selfish like when he lived overseas when I was doing VCE., and he was always way too influenced by his girlfriends, sometimes good, and sometimes he would change to suit their beliefs (fortunately I was an adult by this time). At the end of the day we always stayed connected and he was always there for me. So I’m trying to be there for him and hear what he needs. 

Finding support - Day 10

Having a sense of uumour!- Day 9

Looking after myself -Day 8

I got up early and rode my bike with Patrick who rode to work this morning. I then obviously rode home (much slower) through the beautiful Canadian creek track, enjoying the changing scenery, the nature in behind the streets and houses, and greeting those out and about walking dogs, small children and just by themselves. 

One of the things a lot of people and friends advised me, was to “look after myself” once I was thrust into my caring role looking after dad with dementia.  I never really could work out how to find the time to, and I’d say "yes of course, I do yoga and I go for walks" (at that time runs). But looking after everyone else became my priority, and I slipped into finding things to dull my brain in my down times instead of exercise.  I’ve slowly been carving out time and gradually been setting up a life that is less stressful, and encompasses me and my interests. But when you want to ensure you care for someone who is so vulnerable how can you take time out, it seemed nearly impossible. When you ask family and they just say no, make excuses or turn away, what do you do. When you don't know how to ask friends, or who to ask anyway, what do you do. You just get on with it because you know you're the only one you can rely on.

In 2024 we’d toyed with the idea of extending our little house in town and keeping our town lifestyle, and after some preliminary investigating and work to do this, we recognised Herb needed support sooner rather than later and it might be easier to move him in with us, he seemed to agree at that time. I was already either taking him dinner every night or bringing him to ours, aware he was not cooking much anymore, and this gradually moved to me cooking dinner in his kitchen, while Violet and Patrick would come over and then Patrick would go home, V and  I would stay the night because I’d become increasingly worried about dad getting lost in his own home at night. Often it appeared he was just sleeping on the couch or in his armchair, not showering and definitely  unable to cook. I was worried about his gate and little trips or falls, because he wouldn’t tell me, and his complete denial of this or any memory loss was concerning. It was even more worrying that I couldn’t convince his partner who visited him every second weekend or so, from Melbourne, that dad had dementia, and it worried me on top of that, that dad would get on the train and go and visit her. Their excuses were worrying, hers likely loyally tied up in dads denial and excuses, and a growing helplessness in being unable to support him.  

I started organising everything. I became a little bossy and fell out ungracefully with dads partner while trying to advocate for and navigate his care in a way that was collaborative, but didn’t seem to land that way.  

2025 was a hell of a big year and on Feb 1st Patrick, Violet and I moved to a beautiful bigger house with a magnificent garden, in bush setting - something I was super excited about. Violet had started year 12 the week before and we moved over the weekend, cleaning the old house on the Sunday.

Fortunately, we had a good crew of friends around us to help us physically move and do all the heavy lifting. The exhaustion was something else, I’d never felt it before, after weeks of packing, stressing, organising, working, and looking after dad and Violet, the day of the move I crashed! Patrick and I had hired a truck to move some stuff (cough... my plants), as well as a removalist for the really big heavy things. We’d already done a load the night before – literally filled the truck twice, and my van  with my pot plants and moved these on Friday evening. Saturday the big move went reasonably smoothly with all the help, nervous animals and everything. In the afternoon, I got to a point where my body felt heavy and I couldn’t do anything more, I collapsed on my bed- not yet made, unable to move any further, my brain foggier than I’d ever felt. I woke up an hour later to a familiar smell of my dogs wee and realised she’d got so anxious and being locked in our bedroom with all the comotion, at some point through the day had peed on my blanket I had fallen asleep on. I was too tired to even care or manage doing anything about it- I fell back to sleep.I was tired on a level I had never felt. That seemed to be the start of my tiredness, and I haven’t really been able to shake it since. A combination of doing too much before and since, coupled with perimenopause, plus no time to be active or eat healthy. My body worn out and simple daily tasks exhausted me for ages.

2025 was a wreck from that moment on, Dad didn’t really want to move in, and the best I could do was pick him up every night after work and bring him home for dinner and to sleep in my spare room.  I’d give him breakfast the next morning and take him home again for the day, ensuring he was going to be safe for the day.  I’d organised someone to call in on him every single day, and I even went to his at lunchtimes to ensure he ate his lunch, then I’d pick him up in the evening and do it all over again. Dad not knowing the time anymore would “have a glass on wine”, but maybe a few times a day, and be rather tipsy when I picked him up, which made me angry and upset.  It drove me insane, I was unhappy, I was stressed I was at my wits end. Violet was doing year 12 and I wanted to manage her health and wellbeing which was suffering, we were trying to get her ADHD diagnosis finalised and her onto medication, which happened somehow, but then caused her a major health issue that I had to manage later during the year, this turned into a year long challenge in itself. I was finding work no longer rewarding due to some dynamics going on, I was finding a staff member I had to work closely with really hard to deal with, and it was a confusing time as she was friendly but undermining, like a smiling assassin. She would be supportive about my personal life one moment but condescending the next subtly ensuring I knew she was much better qualified and experienced for our work (she wasn’t), and that she was actually in fact going through a lot more stress (she was going through a lot also, but somehow managed to make everything about her).   

Our new house then got major plumbing issues and it cost us a fortune, due to this we lost the use of our ensuite – a first world problem but  this undid me. I couldn’t manage any more responsibilities so I delegated this one for Patrick to manage, and deal with insurance companies while I navigated Dads life, my aged care, family dynamics, Violet,  my failing health, and looking into homes for Dad. He finally went into respite in about June 2025. I have never felt so broken as that day.

I drove him there, walked him in reminding him he was just there for a fortnight (he wasn't), the Dr’s had convinced him it was for my benefit and he somehow agreed he’d do it for this reason only. I took some of his things in that would help him feel it was a familiar space, and set him up, when I went to leave he hugged me saying he didn’t want to do this, tears in his eyes. I left and made it a short way home before I had to pullover sobbing harder than I ever thought was possible. Heart and gut-wrenching sobs, my mind swirling with guilt, empathy, deep sadness, anger, a sense that I had betrayed Dad, and relief all mixed in. 

I had wanted to spend this year focused on my daughter doing year 12- I'd literally worked hard to set it up to do this and I was angry at him for taking this focus away from me, but so empathetic towards his vulnerability, and grateful for being the dad I needed all my life. I cried every time I spoke to someone for months after this.  It was my private supervisor at that time that recognised my burnout and urged me to take time off, or reduce my hours. It took me a couple of months to get around to taking the time off, and can you believe the day I decided to approach HR and ask them, my colleague previously mentioned, sat our small team down and “announced’ she was taking time off to manage her stressful life. I still talked to HR, actually sobbed and bawled to HR, as I hadn't responded very well to my colleague and felt guilty for my rudeness to her. HR were understanding, as I'd been talking to them for a while, I was able to take the time too.   

I used that time to clean out dads house, and try to make sense of paper work (a whole other kettle of fish).  I also ate a lot of Kitteltys cinnamon rolls!  I somehow managed to swipe the side of my van costing me a lot and a couple of months without it, and also ended up having investigative surgery due to stress on my body (nothing too serious). Being this burned out I slowly recognised I needed to change things; jobs, slow down, and work less.

My voice is still shaky  from this time, as I was a literal mess. I work a better job with more supportive colleagues, I work part time and I am doing a horticulture course because I love gardening. Naturally I am getting more time in the garden but still not that much. This challenge is giving me back my health I hope, and motivating me to exercise again. Dads house is rented out and Mums house went on the market this week so that  will be a relief. In those times when it felt like nothing would ever change, I kept telling myself they would, these hard times don't stay like this, I was right. Even though I should have done this earlier, I might actually have a bit more time for me now!

Rainy days - Day 7

Beards- Day 6

Seems a strange topic for todays blog but bear with me, or as Patrick, my witty husband, would say… beard with me… 

I was up pretty early this morning and decided to walk in the direction of the sunrise, it was stunning. On the way today I was listening to a podcast, I often walk in silence so I can think and reflect while listening to the birds but sometimes a podcast is so interesting I just want to listen. I go to sleep listening to “The Rest is History” podcast. Tom and Dominic have beautiful voices with lovely British accents, they talk about the broadest range of topics throughout history, and I love it. They never talk over each other, are politely jokey with each other, kind and just plain knowledgeable and interesting.

The topic I awoke to and continued to listen to while walking this morning was called the War on Beards. It was essentially a history of the beard, and was oddly fascinating. Naturally it got me thinking about Herb and his beard. 

I have never known my Dad without a beard. Herb had a beard from about the age of 20, and when asked why he wouldn’t shave it off just for fun by my curious young self, I’m sure the once confessed to me it was because he had quite a pock marked face from an embarrassing amount of acne as an awkward teen.

His beard matched the fashions, in the 60’s it was suitably neatly cropped and dark, matching his skivvied  beat-nick look; in the 70’s longer and wild to go perfectly with his flared trousers and want to be fringe dwelling farming/ musician lifestyle; in the 80’s it was a sensible teacher/ dad kind of beard, neither long,  nor was it shortly cropped, but full, neat and a serious beard.I’m sure no-one else's Dad, that I knew, had a beard so it was distinctive. 

In more recent and later years prior to his dementia diagnosis, he had gone back to a reasonably closely clipped style, sometimes super close which was odd with his translucent grey hair, I could now almost imagine what Herb looked like with no beard. He looked very much like his late brother Malcom who didn’t have the beard but a healthy moustache (in my memory anyway). 

Now that dad has dementia he doesn’t think too much about grooming, haircuts and beard trims just don’t factor in his thoughts. Dad had loved a cheap barber, although in recent years had taken to just clipping or getting his partner to cut his hair using clippers. It just isn’t on his radar now, so I have to keep on top of it. 

We tried the hairdresser at the home but with results we weren’t keen on. I’d taken over the clipper and shaver before he moved in so I have just kept doing it. Lately though he resists a beard trim. Sometimes he tells me he’s growing it, and the other day showed me a length he was aiming for I’d never seen on him, ever - think a classy santa! He won’t let the staff trim it and says “Anni does that”, and then I come in to do it and he refuses. I get to a point now where his food is so stuck in his moustache that I insist on a trim and just do it anyway. I can sometimes convince him I’m cutting his hair and just “tidying “ the beard and other days I have to just get bossy and jokingly tell him “remember I’m the bossy daughter” and just do it. It’s an oddly familiar intimate thing cutting Dads hair and beard, a strangely close but honourable thing to do. I like these moments where he sits in silent concentration slowly moving his cheeks around, lifting his head, tilting to one side, while I am in silent focus symbiotically trying to ensure evenness. It’s  a moment just for us. I’m helping him, and he’s accepting it. He’s vulnerable, but he’s still my father. I know it’s a time limited task, and while it’s an odd moment, it’s a moment I can spend being truly in the moment with him. 

Visiting Dad- Day 5

I went to visit Dad yesterday, I do most days, I finish work at 4:30 and get to the nursing home in time to help set him up for tea at 5. Or chat to him while he has tea. I’m giving myself breaks from this lately as I used to turn myself inside out ensuring I was there every single day at a mealtime. 

When he first moved in to the home he refused to eat at the dinner table, and because he has trouble seeing; with dexterity;  and just doesn’t want to eat in general, I saw it as my duty to ensure he was sitting up in his chair with his favourite tv station on, his food was cut up, and he would eat some if it. Over time he has stopped resisting things like eating in the dining room, which while I know makes life easier for staff, I feel sad about this change in him. I can see some of the things Herb resists are due to his dementia- like personal hygiene, it’s apparently a common trait to refuse showers and Herb was always a very clean and well presented person - but refusing to eat in the dining room I can see as a “Herb” thing not a dementia thing and it feels sad that these parts of his personality are disappearing. 

Herb was very social, but only to a point, he actually much preferred to be solitary, or at home with his partner, and if around others he only really tolerated others with similar interests and views to him. He didn’t like the ordinary much, he wasn’t into the footy, or anything remotely commercial, in fact he shunned these things and couldn’t really see the point in engaging in conversation about things that didn’t interest him - politely of course. To Dad the dining room was filled with “those kind of people”, I mean it’s not, and if Dad and they didn’t have dementia he’d have found some kindred and beautiful souls. He certainly has made “friends” with a few, but for the most part the dining room and lounge make him upset and grumpy, he does everything to avoid them. 

So last night I walked right past him sitting in the dining room and went to his room to find it empty, after a bit of a look around I found him sitting at the end of the table like he was holding court, sipping his wine and looking around. I could tell he was in a bit of a grump and worried. One of his fellow residents, Max, who often calls in to say hi to Dad and always comes to say hi to me and have a little chat, was also a little worried. He and Dad were indignantly fixated on why they couldn’t get a beer instead of wine and seemed to think it was ridiculous, Max was quite worked up about it and advocating Herb have a beer! I did a bit of my reassurance and lots of reflection with humour particularly since there was no beer and they both had wine, and they eventually seemed to stop worrying about it. But Herb was in a bad mood now and wouldn’t eat. When the food was in front of him he’d either indignantly tell the staff he wasn’t eating it or smile sarcastically and say “that looks nice” and the to me “I’m not eating this”, and continually tried to give it to me. I kept redirecting it back to him and asking him to have something to eat, his loss of weight upsets me and I try to ensure he is eating. The staff and the food are good I have to add, it’s just Dads refusal to eat anything or much of it, he’ll always say it’s awful food but honestly the quality is pretty good for an aged care home. 

Anyway I’d been there for a while chatting with the other residents next to me, two of who can hold reasonably decent conversations, and with Dad, while also advocating for Dad with my probably least favourite staff member ( they’re all amazing but there’s just one that rubs Dad and I the wrong way). Dad got pretty angry at my attempts to feed him (I sometimes have to physically feed him) and started to mutter angrily at me through gritted teeth “I’m the boss here” “don’t tell me what to do” and things like that. He’s not often like that and I know it’s the disease and his frustration talking, most of the time I can handle these moods - not that they are often- but I wasn’t feeling great so I just gave him my usual gentle squeeze of his hand and said “I’ll see you tomorrow Dad”. I felt guilty but only yesterday he was pleased to see me and have me around, he was joking with me in that cheeky way he does, with tears in his eyes when he laughs, partly through over emotion and from laughing. His emotions are exaggerated now, and they are what he runs on.  I can rationalise his change in moods but some days it’s just harder than others. 

Herb can’t make sense of the world anymore and he can’t communicate with words properly but he feels his way through the world through emotion. Dad is a great person but did always have an air of authority, not in a scary way, but dare I say it in more of the entitled arrogant way of his generation, and coupled with his good nature he was never frightening and never ever mean. Herb knew what he wanted and Herb was pretty black and white about things. Before his dementia if this annoyed me rather than argue with him I’d just walk away my boundaries set, so I guess that’s what I was still doing. It just felt like a betrayal that I could walk away and not have to deal with him and he was stuck here, in the home feeling pretty helpless. I like visiting Dad, and I know he is well cared for. I want to still spend time with him while I can but I am acutely aware I can choose to just walk away, and not to visit, and he is still there pretty vulnerable in my eyes. 

The drizzle -Day 4

Melbourne Cup Day - Day 3

Looking back and appreciating the small things- Day 2

The current state of things - Day 1

Beginning