The Cry for Help Without the Tears

My job if you can call it that was to help Mum with the day to day care of Dad. I wasn't here to judge, but in theory I was the sanest person in the house, as dad had dementia, mum was slowly going doolally and I was some where in between. I was a fifty-year-old man with two grown up children of my own, so I seemed a natural choice to move back in with my parents over thirty years after moving out, armed with only a sense of duty and a sense of humour. I knew nothing about the perils and pi...