One of those rare people who inspire you. They have no agenda, no point scoring, they just are. And they see in you a person that you don’t always see, a good person, your attributes, your soul.

Three years ago I went to Jersey in the Channel Islands as a carer. I was terrified. I had never done it before and did not know what lay before me. But it had to be done, we needed the money, and were sick of working for predominantly awful prople in France.

I was placed with a lady who had only recently started to show signs of dementia; she needed a companion more than the traditional sense of a carer. Her name was Barbara, and over the short time I knew her she changed my life, in the way I viewed myself, and I truly loved her.

I shared the caring duties on what should have been a two weeks on, two weeks off basis, as a live in carer. My caring was vastly different to the other carer. I am an empath, she was not; and so inevitably my empathy was seen by the ever astute Barb, and we became firm friends.

We laughed, every single day, often all day. Barb had the same sense of humour as me, you know, when you only have to look at the person you’re with and you both start laughing about the same thing. Our sense of humour could at times be naughty, laughing at dark things, but as Barb would say ‘the world is dark, and you have to have a sense of humour to survive it.’

One memory that still makes me giggle is when Barb decided to put a roller in her fringe. She left it there for so long we both became ‘roller blind’. So when her son and his wife paid her a rare visit from the UK, Barb happily posed for a photo with them, which I happily took, with her roller taking pride of place! It was only after they had left we realised that one of her son’s last photos of Barb, would be of her with a big roller in her hair. And we laughed about it for days.

But for me it was Barb’s astuteness’s that I loved. Within days of meeting me it was as if she could see into my soul. She would look at me, often during my time with her, and say ‘You are so clever, you could do anything, so why are you here with me?’

Barb knew that I had to believe in myself, have faith in myself, and although I had, to a point, faith in myself, Barb helped me realise I should have total belief. And I do now. I have freedom. Because now I truly don’t care what others judgements of me are. Barb taught me that. She just loved me for who I was. And that is a gift, this person who on first meeting you sees you, really sees you, and loves you for it.

Barb’s life had been hard. Brought up in an orphanage, she left there into an unhappy marriage. To leave that marriage in the 1940s not easy, and sadly she had to leave behind people she loved and cherished. She moved to Jersey and went to work for her beloved Fred, she got the job by telling him she had swam the English channel -she hadn’t! Years later, when her daughter went for an interview she asked Barb what she should say to the question ‘Where do you see yourself in the future?’ Barb told her to say ‘Chief Executive!’

Barb loved to watch the birds, and we would sit in her garden for hours in the late summer of 2020 . That love of watching the birds would stay with me forever, and we now have bird feeders all over our garden, and very fat birds. Barb would have loved it.

I was with Barb a month that summer, and I loved every minute of it. I could talk to Barb like I would talk to my mum. I told her about France, she told me to leave it. In fact she wanted me to move to Jersey and live with her. Some people would have abused that invite, I am not one of those people. It was during that late summer month that we sold Montaigu, and Barb told me that I must follow where life was leading me.

Barb had married Fred after going to work for him. She would tell me how he was her soulmate. Her heart had been broken when he died, and she was lonely. She had stopped eating, because for her the joy of life had been taken from her. She would tell me often that she was the same age of the queen, and she was ready ‘to go now.’

Sadly when I returned to Jersey a month later I was placed with another lady I had cared for, both she and her private carer had become good friends, but I wanted to be with Barb.

Barb had not been told her diagnosis, but she was no fool. She would look at me and tell me that she did not want to deteriorate. She was terrified of what may lay in front of her; she knew, she definitely knew. I too did not want her to deteriorate, this funny, wonderful, astute woman. And after I left Jersey because we had sold up, I hoped that fate did not befall her.

On my last day on Jersey, I was moved from my placement to spend my last night with Barb. That was ‘Life’, because I never returned to Jersey after that. Barb and I sat chatting much later than her normal bedtime. We told each other that we loved each other. Although I was not aware it was my last night there, or the last time I would see Barb, she did. Ever the late sleeper she walked into the kitchen at 6.30am (Barb normally slept until at least 1pm!) and hugged me tightly. Even the carer who was taking over from me had tears in her eyes, when I asked her what she was doing up, and she said ‘I got up to say goodbye to you. My dear friend.’

I have thought about Barb often over these years. I tried to stay in touch with her, and messaged her family to see if it was okay. I respected their wishes when I did not hear back from them. But I have thought about her so,often, and when I have, I have felt her love. This lady that changed my life.

This month she has been on my mind. So today I checked the obituaries for Jersey on the Channel Islands. Barb died on the 4th of July this year. Independence Day. There is something fitting in that! Because although I have tears in my eyes as I write this, Barb is free. She is back with Fred, and she is free from the claws of dementia. She was ready to go. And she outlived the Queen!

We will meet again. Of that I have no doubt.

I will leave you with the words Barb wanted in her obituary…’ I have conked out’

And there she is making me laugh again.

Au Revoir my friend

Moira