A heartfelt account of a family’s journey in dealing with dementia

First-time author Sarah Smith has released her book, Because I Know Who He Is, detailing her dad's battle with dementia. William "Bill" Mann was a Dalmuir-born philanthropist who devoted most of his life to helping good causes, particularly in the arts & sports worlds, and was awarded a CBE.

Erskine was fortunate enough to know Bill as he was a resident in Erskine Glasgow until his death in 2019. Sarah's book details the overwhelming changes and emotions experienced when a loved one has dementia and she will be joining us on Erskine Veterans Radio this week to talk more about her experiences.

The dedication of her book reads:

For dad, and all those who suffer and have suffered, and for all my wonderful friends at Erskine who cared so beautifully for him.

You can read more of Sarah and her family’s journey in our excerpt below or purchase her book “Because I Know who he is” - available from https://olympiapublishers.com/books/because-i-know-who-he-is

Excerpt from “Because I Know who he is” 

Chapter Four – Erskine

“Bruce had gone ahead to sort dad’s room, while Ainsley and I had taken dad out for lunch (thinking wrongly we could ‘soften the blow’ somewhat). We all piled into my car and drove to Erskine. After a few minutes dad asked the dreaded question “Where are we going and when can I go home?

Ainsley, who although a very successful businessman, left it to me to answer! “We are off to Erskine Dad, for a cup of coffee to see how they have used your donations”. But there was no fooling our wee dad… he didn’t want to go. He must have suspected something.

On arrival we were met by Ewa (a Polish Senior Care Assistant) who I was told was excellent at her job and would take control of the situation, having dealt with new residents often. She was bright and welcoming but also had a sense of authority about her. But in a kind way… I wasn’t wrong there! More on Ewa and the other wonderful staff later.

The rooms at Erskine are comfortable and purpose built for dementia. They are bright with skirtings and edges painted in bold colours because dementia affects everything, including your sight and perception. Each room has an en-suite big enough for wheelchairs and 33 hoists when the time comes. Dad was ‘lucky enough’ to
have a room overlooking the garden courtyard. I say ‘lucky enough’ because he didn’t feel lucky that day, bless him.

He did sit down and accepted a cup of coffee but all the while maintaining he would not take off his coat and neither would he be staying for dinner. Ainsley, Bruce and I looked at each other both with despair and sadness, but we all knew in our hearts this was the right decision. I always said, and still do, that if you are going to end your life in residential care, (never liked the phrase care home), Erskine is the place to be. All its communal areas are open-plan: the sitting room flows into the dining area and each floor is called a ‘house’. Dad was in Linburn House.

The continuity of care is second to none. Some of the carers have been there since it opened in 2007 and some, like my friend Karen, have worked for Erskine for over thirty years… that speaks volumes to me. I must point out that Karen was not my friend, nor were any of the staff until we first met there, but they are my good friends now and I feel privileged to call them my friends. There are three houses in Erskine Glasgow… Flanders on the ground floor, Linburn on the middle and Mitchell on the top, housing forty-seven residents in total. Not everyone there has dementia, but most do – all of course at varying stages. I must admit to being quite taken aback initially with some behaviours, but this was only because this was a world I knew nothing about.

Ewa quickly saw that us being with dad for too long would only make his initial transition worse, so gently hinted that we should go home. My dad’s blue eyes didn’t leave me… he didn’t want me to leave. In a way it’s like dropping your child off on that first day of school or
nursery… you know it’s better to be kind but firm. Ewa assured us dad would be fine and I knew he would be well taken care of, but would he really be fine? Left alone with strangers… abandoned by his children… I gave dad a massive cuddle but he wasn’t so keen… a practice I was to experience often during his illness until the last few months. Never did I judge or question him… it was simply his illness, not my dad as I knew him. Of course he was confused, frightened and angry and I completely understand that. Every day thereafter was all about trying to make dad’s life as happy and with as little distress as possible. And so began the journey we took together, negotiating the problems this disease throws at you — both as a sufferer and a relative.”