She really liked us (well, obviously, for she stayed with us for six years and was simply wonderful, kind and caring, with my mother, as anyone reading these threads will well know and will well recall), and I know she really liked this current family, they have treated her very well, and the lady (whom I met a few times - she was diabetic, and had called in to me - brought by the carer - on a few occasions, including once during Covid, as a sort of emergency, because, while out for a walk with the carer, she experienced sudden plummeting blood sugar, whereupon we immediately prepared tea for her) was absolutely lovely, a genuine "lady" and a very decent person.
However, it only recently struck me that this must be emotionally draining and exhausting (if also very rewarding) for someone as dedicated and decent as the carer.
This lady also died at home; the carer wanted me to meet her husband (widower) when he drove her to collect her post, at my house, and I had a lovely chat with him. He told me that his wife had died very peacefully, gently, and she was relaxed, and comfortable and content; pneumonia, I was told, "the old person's friend", although she had dementia, (nowhere nearly as badly as my poor mother) and diabetes, and God knows what else, but, yes, other ailments. However, it all sounded very similar to what had happened with us.
Smiling, he poured praise on the carer (as I did), and she was laughing and blushing; yes, exhausting and draining, but to know that you have made - not just a positive difference to someone's life, and the quality of that person's life - but that you have made such an enormous and positive and significant difference to that person's life, well, to my mind, that means something.