For over a decade, Weary Mother has been writing comments on this blog often about her son Neil. Neil is a character, an actor, a person who gives much that is unnoticed. He’s loved off the planet by his mother, Isobel. Isobel is a character, an ex-social care professional, a force of nature.
Neil is now 60. Isobel, 87. Isobel has spent decades supporting Neil. Until a year or so ago, she supported Neil’s wife Sharon. Working her socks off to keep them both well in the flat they lived in. Each one of Isobel’s comments on these pages is breaktakingly powerful and often devastating. This from December 2025:
On the 19th of December last year my daughter-in-law died. I sat with my Down son, he will be 60 next year, and was married to this tiny innocent little woman for 25 years. He was her devoted partner for 30. They met at school. A school for children with moderate learning disabilities. my son went there when he was four years old. She came later – for was 6 years younger. But age was not a prime factor in this lovely school.
We, my son and I and my son’s underpaid and undervalued support worker, sat with her all morning while she died. My son held her hand as she died, I held his, and his compassionate worker – who does the role and and the tasks of social worker, held mine. He made all the phone calls; did the hospital admin while my son and I sat with her until it was dark outside.
She died long and very painfully, far too young. She died of everything that is wrong with social work and so called Statutory Social Care.
She died of lack of accountability.
They loved every single anniversary for all were a shared celebration. Family birthdays were special time to shop and choose and post presents. Valentines day was always hugely special; where they chose and sent each other a card. My son came to live me for a while soon after she died and we were in a supermarket; his face melted when he saw the Valentine cards.
She loved ‘shiny’ things. The flat was very full of all little purchases that had brought her pleasure. We have cleared them all away and there is a bed settee where her bed was.
It is nearly Christmas again; I see similar shiny pleasures for her everywhere, and I can no longer buy them for her. My son feels same, but for him it is so very much worse.
We have had no support from the social worker who was allocated shortly before she died. I asked this worker first time we met, it was soon after the funeral – ‘why do you stay when the new young social workers all leave’? the reply was ‘ the grass is not greener else where’.
What an elegy.
Neil has been in hospital for weeks now with serious health issues that should never have progressed to the extent they did. As Isobel, who has been by his side, says, “the combination of GP negligence, and a brutal Shires Local Authority that reduced all learning disability support and contracts learning disability support from a revolving door of cheapest unskilled care workers, harmed Neil”.
Neil is now in a situation of being discharged from hospital with a catheter and no social care support at home. The hospital social worker is in hiding and the community social workers don’t get involved until the person is home. Isobel says “I have two choices leave him in hospital to deteriorate further or hand him over to the agency that has harmed him. Same kind of agency that slowly killed Sharon”. She is certain Neil will develop sepsis like Sharon, and die. She ended her latest email to me with the words “I am very tired”.
I would like to know from any social care professionals how we could be getting this stuff so badly wrong that a parent who is nearly 90 is boiling bedsheets and scouring a flat for her son to come home to. Ready for her to care for him.
Please feel free to comment below as Weary Mother has been doing for years.
Thank you.
mydaftlife 