This card was bought just over a month ago for my dad. He would’ve loved it.

Today was/is/would’ve been his birthday. What tense are we supposed to use now?!?

We all do grief differently. We all do life differently. We are all different. I think the only rule with grief is that you just need to it in some shape or form.

Initially I thought I’d just need a day off work, then I quickly realised I needed more days, then I wanted more but couldn’t, and now I’m happy to be back working and out the other side. I’ve heard that it does come for visits again, at random moments.

In life kookaburras reminded me of my dad. Bird watching whenever the chance. Being quiet in hides as we tried to spot the elusive kingfishers, one of his favourites. No giggling or you had to wait outside. Fun times.

Most of my memories are now my dad being my dad, not him being my ill dad. His death freed his soul from his ailing body – for him and for me. I’m now remembering him being many different ‘versions’ as one of my sisters would say. The young-kid dad, the stressed teacher dad, the restless retired dad, the relaxed retired dad, and the ill dad. I’m pleased for all the versions that we had, I just would’ve liked a bit more of the dad from 1985 and maybe 2008. But we can’t pick and choose, we are there through it all, that is what family is.

A kookaburra is a version, or a family member of the kingfisher. In any year.

I was going to send this card to his old care home, however I think I’ll keep it forever now.

Love Stripes and (gum)Trees xxx

Living on the opposite side of the world to my family means that photos become real interactions. Photos are conversations, photos are hugs, photos are observations, photos are coffee dates, photos are life.

Decades of photos in order.

Time stamped, location stamped.

Cataloguing time together,

My visits, your visits.

You being grandpa to growing kids,

You being my dad, always teaching, always learning.

Colourful family life.

Beautiful life.

Then as the light started changing my photos became desperate.

Screen shots of our video conversations.

Close ups.

Whiteness.

And now a series of black and whites,

Your childhood.

Then orange tinged photos,

My childhood.

And suddenly there are no more photos.

No new photos.

Of you.

This is what makes me sad.

See you somewhere dad X

My dad was happy, the cook Hannah was happy, the other carers, the other residents, my family seeing this on Facebook (it’s the only way at the moment), friends, acquaintances of the home…the wave of happiness spread exponentially!

It all started with one person choosing to listen to another, truly listening, with heart. They had empathy, and understood the potential magic moment and everlasting memory that they could help make happen. And they chose to do it.

I’m sure this isn’t written into the care plan, or the home’s policies, I’m sure there isn’t a column on a spreadsheet or a dashboard for this. I am sure that it cost a few more £’s than a basic Victoria sponge cake, and took more time, but the impact of this simple act of kindness is truly immeasurable, and completely invaluable.

From the carers to the cook to the home manager, these people are all aligned and working with true purpose. Hannah the cook was able to make this moment happen – that speaks volumes for her character, but also her employer. This should be captured somewhere! Everyone felt the feels, along with the happy end-user (my dad in this instance), but can we effectively capture feels, work out strategies, implement plans, request budget? I think we can.

Employee experience is so important for me, and with my research and marketing skills I hope that one day I can work towards helping get employee experience on the dashboard. For Ashworth Grange, the metric on the CQC (Care Quality Commission) dashboard would be a huge stack of lovehearts, as is evident on Facebook.

My dad dad lives in a care home because he has behavioural variant frontotemporal dementia (BvFTD).