When Norman Mair turned up on his own doorstep one New Year's Eve, it was the moment that something had to change. His wife, Lewine, was watching TV with her now-adult children and thought that Norman was in bed, having gone up early.
But when the doorbell rang, the last person she expected to see was Norman. Dressed in his favourite sweater, he was out in the cold winter's night without a coat.
"We heard Norman's voice outside and it was an absolute shock to the system," Lewine, a former sportswriter, 77, told the Mirror this Dementia Awareness Week, which ended on Sunday. "The doctor then said you aren't coping and can't be on red alert 24 hours a day - he either needs carers or a care home."
A neighbour had recognised Norman around half a mile away from his home on the outskirts of Edinburgh. He was on the side of the road in the pitch dark. They stopped and asked if he needed help, before realising that he didn't know where he was going.
The signs had been there in the weeks and months running up to that New Year's Eve in 2012. Norman, who had a career as a rugby star before becoming an award-winning Scottish rugby and golf journalist, would wake up as many as four times a night asking for his golf clubs, which he did own, and a gun, which he didn't.
Lewine and the family has started to worry some years earlier, in 2007. A few years later, he was forgetting where he'd left his car keys. He blamed their misplacement on Lewine - who ended up having to hide them from him to stop him from driving on doctor's orders.
By 2010, he was leaving taps and the oven on, and Lewine had to hire an electrician to adapt their kitchen to make them automatically turn off after 30 minutes. A year later, at the age of 83, Norman had a cognitive awareness test, which confirmed he had mix of Alzheimer's and dementia.
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"I had to hide the car keys to stop him from driving," Lewine explained. "But once he found them and set off up the road, where he thought he was going to a driving range, but ended up at the borders.
"When he got back, I could tell he was frightened of what he'd done He recognised what he did wasn't right.
"His way of dealing with it was... he was more inclined to say, 'That was a daft thing' for me to do - he put the blame onto someone else. He didn't want to believe it was him. He didn't want to believe anything was wrong."
One in three people are expected to develop dementia within their lifetime, with many more facing the reality of loving and caring for someone with the diagnosis. Following the medical advice and after years of torment as his disease slowly took over his intelligent and witty brain, Lewine agreed to put Norman in a care home, which was an unbearable decision to have to face.
They'd been married for a lifetime after meeting at a tournament they were both reporting on when Lewine was just 18 and he was 17 years her senior. It had taken a toll on her caring for him every day and all day, with them both exhausted.
He also had developed problems with his feet, and needed respite. She dreaded the move in January 2013, questioning whether she'd done the right thing but, to her relief, Norman didn't seem to notice.
"It was a horrible thing to have to do," she admitted. "He didn't know he'd moved anywhere. We thought he'd be difficult about it. But he didn't even notice. He didn't want to admit anything.
"After the first day in the home I rang the matron, and asked 'how was he?' She said he didn't get up in the night. He slept well. He didn't know where he was but he didn't mind where he was, and he was happy.
"It was such a relief. And that's something people should know. They are probably worried sick about putting somebody in a home, but they might find, like me, that my husband didn't even realise."
Despite Norman doing well, the mum-of-four still had nightmares to begin with. But once she saw how he was with other patients in the care home, she came to realise there were still moments of joy to be cherished.
They became so abundant that, as a writer, she started to jot them down, which led to her grandchildren encouraging her to write about her experiences of caring for Norman and her daily visits to the home with her own book - Tapping Feet: A Double-take on Care Homes and Dementia.
There was never a day Norman didn't have a visitor, as the home was just up the road from their house. If she wasn't able to visit, her daughter that lived nearby would go, along with Lewine's grandchildren - who would light up the room. During their visits, Lewine would play the piano in the lounge - giving her first-hand experience of how transformative music can be for those living with dementia.
"I played old songs from the musicals and straight away their feet started to tap," Lewine reflected. Residents loved the music and it amazed me. I could see it for myself how it helps dementia patients and actually making it happen was a wonderful moment.
"Norman wasn't musical at all, but the staff would say 'your wife is playing.' At home Norman would probably shut the door, but in the home, he asked me, 'how long have you played?' and I replied, 'All of my life, why are you asking?'
"He said, 'well because I like it. I like it all'. The atmosphere was terrific. I was able to watch how everyone interacted, which was really interesting."
Without fail, one of the resident's husbands would get her up for a dance, while the care home manager was always on hand to offer a calming cup of tea, Lewine says. Three years later, Norman died at the age of 86, due to exhaustion.
He'd fallen and broken his hip, and didn't allow himself to recover. In hospital, he was trying to take tubes out of his body and back in the home he was constantly up and down out of his chair.
Eventually, his body shut down after becoming too tired to carry on. Lewine misses his "eccentric ways" the most and says watching dementia take over his personality was heartbreaking.
"It's a terribly sad affliction when you see it take people who've got wonderful minds and Norman was a brilliant writer. He was so clever and funny as well.
"It is of course horrible to see anyone going downhill with dementia, but what I realised is that you can't look on the dark side all the time. In the home, you've got to see there are lighter moments as well. People seem to think every care homes are patients looking at nothing. It wasn't like that at all."
She hopes her book will put other carers at ease about moving their loved-ones into care facilities, as they're known to have a 'bad rap'. Lewine insists she never set out to deliver a strong message with her book, but hopes it helps others going through it.
"I was just trying to give care homes a fairer rap as they've been badly treated for a long time," she added. "I realised the more I was writing was that 'this will cheer people up', it's not all doom and gloom."
Tapping Feet is available now on Amazon. A third of the profits from sales will go to Head for Change, the book’s charitable partner.
