my 93 yr old mum in her really nice little council flat in Sheffield, with her beloved grandson, my youngest son, who went to cook for her each evening. He watched over her, ate evening meals with her /which he cooked/ as she would only eat when she could eat with someone else, while I was out giving tuition, teaching in China, India etc which meant she was strong enough to have a long life. He also sorted out all her bills, money etc along with an excellent Sheffield social worker. In the end her memory went a bit, she thought she was back in our home country. Her own son was killed when a lad, back in East Germany in the fifties, but she certainly had a good surrogate son with my youngest.