During about twenty years, I visited the UK, sometimes for business, and to see my daughter Sofia, and later, my grandson. I was always with someone who could translate for me, so I didn’t have to make a big effort to speak better English.
But one day, in November 2013, I received a phone call telling me that my daughter was in a coma, and only a miracle could save her. I flew to London that same day, then took a bus to Bristol, praying to my Guardian Angel to support Sofia’s Guardian Angel.
I was living with my mum, a paid carer, and my sons. My mum had suffered a stroke after my brother’s death and was using a wheelchair. It was so difficult to understand what the doctors were telling me.
After more than a month in intensive care and two more in hospital, Sofia was discharged—but disabled and needing 24-hour care. And my mother? The only solution was to bring her to Bristol too, and care for my mother, my daughter, and my difficult 8-year-old grandson. I’m very grateful for those times—so much love, hard and funny moments—but there was no time for me, no one to advise me, no one to share my fears and difficulties.
One day, I found a leaflet in the pharmacy inviting people to a new carers group in Kingswood. I went on the first day. What a circle of love and understanding! All of us had the same fears, similar difficulties, and the same love for our disabled loved ones. Everyone tried to help me with my terrible English. Raj gave me exercise books and audio tapes to help with my accent. Gloria made the teas and coffees. Carla Thomas coordinated the group and was fantastic—helping me get a National Insurance number, open a bank account, and deal with the council and Job Centre Plus for me and my mother.
Carla didn’t stay long, but we’ve always had lovely people supporting us. Now we have the wonderful Sal Irish, always bringing something interesting or creative. Some people have been there since the beginning, and new carers keep joining. The love and understanding are the same. I’ll never forget the support I received when my mother died, when I said I was dating someone and fell in love, and when I lost my daughter. They even supported me when I said I now care for my boyfriend. We are carers—and more than a group, we are friends. I am so grateful to everyone!
Caring means caring for myself, being responsible for others. It means in simplicitat laborum—in English, “I work in simplicity,” doing what is necessary in the moment, just accepting. Caring means learning every day from our loved ones—about them and about ourselves. Accepting and understanding their limits, and testing our own. And just trying, one more step. A lot of these feelings, I learned from the group.
Thank you.
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