I was stuck in a traffic jam with my dad when he reached over and held my hand. I’d just promised him that I would never let him go into a care home, that I’d stick by him no matter what. I meant it.
That was 15 years ago. I had no idea then that, when the time came, I’d be a single working mum with two children, Lola and Liberty, now eight and six, and juggling life as what is known as a “sandwich carer”. To be honest, I hadn’t pondered that decision in the car for more than a few seconds, but it was a profound and instinctive one. My dad died last summer at the age of 92. I was caring for him until the bitter end.
