Joe Going to the Pub

He looked at his watch. I knew he was getting itchy feet and wanted to go out.
'I just think I will go and see the lads.'
'OK, Dad.' A big smile came to his face, and he most probably thought phew, that was easy.
He went to the cubbyhole, took out his big beige coat, and said like always, 'This is my coat from the forces.' It was given him from a relation of my husband, but he loved it.
'Come here and I'll help you fasten it.' He had dementia, and this was a skill he had to relearn. Off he went; and so did I, but unknown to him.
Many children were playing outside and I wondered how he would react to them, and vice versa. As I looked on, there he was bending over them talking; next he was slapping his hands against his legs and the children were copying him. He says his goodbyes and off again, next he's waving to a neighbour. He gets to the bottom of the street – now it's my turn. I run to the bottom of the road so I can watch him go out alone, following until he gets to the pub where he sits watching.
An old man sits in the same place all the time so people know where to look for him, and this they did.
As you walk in the door the bar is opposite with a table in the middle, which is usually full with workers. At the end of a long bar sits Billy, a rather larger than life character, who was a marvellous friend, joker, carer.
When dad got in the pub, they made sure he was OK; when he was coming home I would get a phone call to say he was on his way, so off I went to make sure he got home safe.

Maureen Thomas

These pieces are from our What's Your Story? participants. They have kindly donated their work to help inspire you to write down your thoughts as part of our 'Mental Health & Me' writing competition. 

You can find out more about our competition here. Keep in touch with our blog to read more of their brilliant writing.