Dad has been increasingly poorly this year (see last blog) and started to decline further in May. I decamped to his place on Tuesday 14 May and was so pleased to be there. He was receiving care 4x a day, deteriorated daily and on that Friday, St Michael's Hospice stepped in to support us. They are absolute angels. The next week was an intense time of watching Dad pretty much 24/7, multiple care visits both during the day and middle of the night (carers, doctors, nurses), family (sisters, Keith, his boys for Match of the Day which he loved!), friends and work emails in quieter periods. I felt so honoured that Dad let me be there in his final days. Caitlin and Riona both came down, and Caitlin engaged Dad in a crossword when he wasn't napping.
When everyone had left for the day, I'd go up and sit next to him on his bed whilst he slept. I'd take one of Mum's crossword books and chat to him as I solved the puzzles. Such special times.
Dad died as he wished, in his bed at home, in the early hours of Friday 24 May. I was privileged to be there with Thai, his (and our) beloved carer, Caitlin (who had dropped back in on her way to Exeter) and JC. Riona was on night shift so we gave her a call at 0230 for a chat and virtual hug.
Dad was lucid until the early hours of Wednesday morning - 2 days before he died - and it's been a shock to be chatting to someone one week and them not being there the next. It was different with Mum, who disconnected with us years ago because of her dementia (so a different type of grief) but who died unexpectedly. I catch myself hearing of a landslide on the railways and thinking "I'll email Dad that" only to realise I can't. I well up with tears when I come across a recent email of his.
So now Keith and I are back again organising another funeral. It is something when the funeral directors recognise you isn't it? It's just over 5 months since Mum died and I'm nowhere over that yet. And as Keith and I start to sort through the house it just oozes Mum and Dad memories. There is a bit of relief that I no longer have to worry about Dad. For around 2 or so years, since he had sepsis, we've received a daily "OK" email from him. Those mornings when it hadn't arrived by 0730 made me nervous. And if it hadn't arrived by 0900 I'd email him, or call. It will take me a while before I stop worrying about him - I'm still waiting for that morning email.
Dad's funeral is later this month and we're writing his eulogy. During this I've come across a mini-life story Dad wrote covering his time from childhood to early adulthood, a mere 47 pages. His memories of life in the war, school and his car mechanic apprenticeship are detailed - there are numerous stories of roads driven, types of Austin cars involved, double de-clutching etc - as is his time in National Service (Yemen and Kuwait). He recalls driving around Essex with L plates in 1956 as the Suez Crisis halted driving tests.
It's only when you read of a time gone that you appreciate how special a life was. He was infuriating in many ways, and I sadly only really got to know him once Mum's dementia had taken hold. But at least I had the last 5 years listening to him and sharing special times. I am sad, but I'm glad to be sad - some people don't know their Dad, or don't mind him dying, but I do. Thank you Dad x
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