Saturday

We spent today with Clive's family in the Forest of Dean.

Our niece told us that my S-in-L has a diagnosis of dementia. She's 68. 

We suspected because she has lost confidence and does things like, for example, send two birthday cards and can't remember routes etc. 

So, two years ago, she made a dr appointment, had tests and scans and told us it was PTSD which made sense following the suicide. Turns out she kept us in the dark. She can't anymore.

 (Here's the coffee machine that Clive gave me for Christmas.)

There's always something, isn't there.