My dad passed away on Friday night. This was the 8th of March. He was 65. He would have been 66 on the 8th of October. He would have been delighted to get to 65, in fact he has supposedly said these very words.
He was a heavy smoker, he liked his drink (and I don't mean in the same way most people like a drink...) and he worked hard all his life. He did so many things during his life, travelled, loved, laughed and left me with a few of his best qualities in my opinion. The main one being the ability to not take things too seriously, laugh in the face of adversity, and not to show emotion or cry unduly.
To some people I suppose the latter is not something to see as a quality, the ability to cry and share your feelings is something most people rely on to help in difficult situations. I, however, have always had a strong urge to keep my emotions private. And by private, I don't mean close family and friends only, I mean just me. Occasionally I now let my husband in on it and he might try to comfort me, however when I do actually get upset I very rarely embrace being comforted. I see it as someone thinking I am weak and need help dealing with things....that just simply isn't what I want someone to think. Yes, even my husband.
I realise that this can be considered unhealthy. I also realise not many people will understand. But that is just my way. Maybe as I get older I will change and grow and accept comfort when I am upset. But not for now.
Anyway, back to my dad. I am sure I have mentioned before that I was never a daddy's girl, and that we didn't have a close relationship. I don't know if this is a help or a hindrance now. I haven't processed it. But there are definately issues that I need to deal with. There is a lot of family issues to deal with up until the funeral that also makes things difficult but again they are things that will be processed later.
My dad had lung cancer. He told us his diagnosis in September, the three of us. Me and my two older sisters. I like to think I took it pretty well, Liz was in shock and Steph knew about it before us. I had already asked him that day if our mum could come to his funeral as and when. Even though at that point his tumour was operable. He said yes. Thankfully, as I think his wife would have had something to say about it had we not already asked him. He also asked each of us sisters to plant a peace rose in our gardens once he had passed.
Anyway, the tumour ended up not being operable, it was attached to his Superior Vena Cava and was impossible to detach. So they opted for chemo and radiotherapy. He had all his chemotherapy without even a day off work, a true fighter. He then had a scan that showed the tumour had not spread and not got any bigger. RESULT! We went out for a celebratory lunch Liz, Dad, Wendy and me. It was the last time I saw him as normal as he could be. I am so thankful for that lunch and that time, it was only just over a month ago.
Just before our holiday to Thailand for our wedding anniversary I found out he needed a bronchoscopy. He had had a bad chest for a little bit and been on steroids. I wouldn't be here when he got the results of his scope but they wouldn't start radiotherapy without it.
I made the decision that whilst we were on holiday I didn't want to know the results of the scope, I wouldn't be able to change them, and it would put the dampners on a holiday we had been looking forward to for ages, and my first big holiday!
I knew all holiday that it was going to be bad news, I thought all the flight home that he would probably be telling me he had only months to live. I even dreamed about it the night before we came home. But we got delayed, 24 hours in Bangkok. I wish I knew the logic because if we hadn't then I would have found out he had gotten worse at the same time as my sisters, and we would have all been with him in his last talking hours. Sadly I didn't get back until he had more or less stopped talking.
I spoke to my sister and she said he had been told on Weds 6th March that he was no longer fit enough for radiotherapy and that there would be no more follow up from the hospital. He was sent home with nebulisers and morphine and to be followed up by his GP. On the Weds evening he walked to the pub and back. On his own. His last time.
On the Thurs he had changed dramatically and his wife contacted Steph and told her to come to the house and tell Liz. They did and my dad was clearly in a lot of pain and was struggling to walk. He was talking but not as normal and was a bit muddled at times. Liz stayed up with him all night Thurs as he wasn't able to go upstairs. They brought a bed down for him. She recorded her and him talking and she kept him topped up with painkillers.
David and I got there at 12 midday on Fri 8th March. He looked so ill, his breathing was so noisy and he wasn't really speaking at all, just odd words. I didn't even know if he knew it was me that was there. I sat next to him for a bit and tried to take in what was happening, I found the best way to deal with it was go into nurse mode. Steph couldn't even look at him let alone be next to him. She eventually did manage to speak to him and say her goodbyes. We all did that afternoon because I knew he wouldn't have long.
I knew he was going to go quickly with how fast he was deteriorating. Each hour that passed he looked worse, paler, thinner, weaker. He slept more. He went to the toilet and really struggled yet but wouldn't let us help him much. Stubborn sod. Once he got to the toilet he shut the door and must have slid to the floor rather than the toilet, probably too weak to lower himself down to the toilet seat. He was against the door and we couldn't get in. Eventually, despite him not wanting us to, I squeezed in the tiny toilet and he was lying on the floor in wee and trousers down...not how he would want to be. No wonder he wouldn't let us in. Me and Liz got him up, he was clinging on to the sink and wouldn't let us help him out. We got his clothes up and told him to just let us help, he let go and we carried him into the room. He gave in to it. We changed him and got him carried into the hospital bed that had arrived that day. He looked so tired and so ill. It was a sight I will never forget. I rang the doctor and said we needed diamorphine starting as he was so bad. The nurses came and set it up that evening, about 19.20. We changed him again and made him comfortable. And I told Wendy to tell the family to come. The nurse there thought he would last an hour but I knew he would hang on. People tend to know when the time is right, and I knew he would want all his family that wanted to see him, to make it on time.
Family started arriving, I made sure his mouth was moist and kept an eye on his breathing pattern. Once people start cheyne stoking they don't have long.
His family arrived about 21.45 and he passed away at 22.27. I counted three minutes to make sure he had definately passed away.
We called the nurses to come and register the death, and also the undertakers. The nurses didn't arrive until after 12 and we kept an eye on my dad and people kept going in to chat to him one last time. I don't know how I managed to not cry, I was on autopilot and pretending to be at work. I wanted to make sure my dad was looked after properly until he left us. I stayed while they certified him, and while the undertakers covered and bagged him and took him away. We walked to the car and watched it drive off. It was about 2.30 am.
It seems so unreal to me now, I still haven't realised that was my dad and that's what happened. I can't let myself realise. I don't know why. I kept missing my moments to cry and now I still haven't. I am afraid of it sinking in and just going back to normal life.
Liz and me took one of his shirts, and she took other bits as keepsakes. I still haven't taken it out of the bag or looked at it. The same way I haven't allowed my brain to think of friday night. Even typing this I have done it without thinking about it hardly at all.
The funeral is a week tomorrow. I don't even want to go. I am standing at the back and hopefully it will be over quick and I can get back and sort my head out.
I love my dad, I can't say I have a ton of memories or that I really spent a huge amount of time with him. But I know he loved me, and I loved him. Still do and always will. He was such a presence and such a major person in my life even when he wasn't there. His voice was so powerful and I would give anything to ring him up now and hear it. I could kick myself for not making more effort to ring and visit this last few years. I need to just forget that. I hope what I did for him the day he died will show him how much I wanted to be there, and hopefully I made him as proud as I could.
xxxx
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