Photo Series: A Day in the Life of Barry Middleton

My old man was an active bloke in his youth, playing football for Carlton FC most Sundays, and working as an electrical engineer at RAF Cranwell. He then went on to work at a furniture manufacturers here in Nottingham for several years with very few holidays; up and out at 4am every morning and back home at about 5pm.

Times were tough, though, because he was a big drinker and that was where a lot of his earnings went. Obviously that effected my mother, who had to put up with feeding us and coping with him coming home drunk most nights. When the licensing laws were changed to allow for earlier opening times, it made matters worse. He took voluntary retirement and went out drinking twice a day. Morning, nap. Afternoon, nap. Repeat the next day.

Eventually his health declined and he was forced to give up drinking after several liver infections. He seemed to take recovery pretty well, and started to become active about the house; doing the garden and fixing things. It’s about here that we began to notice things weren’t quite right.

One afternoon, my mum and two sisters went shopping, and I was at home on my own with dad. He’d decided to put up a security light at the back of the house. I was in the living room getting myself ready to go to a mate’s house when I heard a quiet thud and a clank. I went outside to see what it was, and he’d fallen from the top plate, throwing the ladder one way and himself – face first – the other. This resulted in broken bones and injuries to his head, wrist, ribs and leg, and a week or so in hospital. He’d always been a very careful person – a trait I’ve picked up from him – so the fall was out of character.

He was diagnosed as having vascular dementia, which got worse as years went on, and was later joined by Parkinson’s which made him lose the use of his legs.

While he could physically stand, we had carers come round twice day. When he lost that ability we had to up the number of daily carer visits to four. This meant that the living room was full of hoisting aids and a special bed that mean he could be raised and lowered, and a purpose-built air mattress to prevent bed sores. He also had a purpose-built reclining chair that I took a fair liking to when he wasn’t using it.

This all took place over a nine year period, and throughout it all my mother showed nothing but love and care towards him. It was a huge struggle, but we all mucked in. It was because of my father’s condition that I decided to enter a career in care, working for the care company that looked after him, and eventually, a local retirement home.

While in employment, I began studying Photography Practice full-time at Central College. It was something I’d always wanted to do, and finally had the opportunity. I’ve just finished my Foundation degree there, and this photo series formed part of my assignment. We were told we had to photograph “A day in the life of…”, and after a bit of thought, I decided I wanted to do my dad.

It was fortunate that I did, as it wasn’t long after I took these photographs that he caught pneumonia.  He was in hospital for a while and seemed to be recovering. We got him home and for a few months everything seemed to be going okay. Then he caught a few infections which turned into pneumonia again. It was back to hospital, where we were told by doctors to prepare for the worst.

As a family, we decided that we wanted to bring him home, and on 17 February and around 11am, surrounded by his family, his carers and district nurses, he took his final breaths.

These images show an average day in the life of a family dealing with dementia, and one woman dealing with the loss of her husband. They were together for over forty years, and she worked hard to provide constant love and support, from early morning till late at night, sometimes without sleep. The final two images show life after his death. Although the struggle has lifted slightly, my mum’s loneliness is evident, even though I still live at home with her.