I haven’t been writing for such a long time.
In October 2018 my Dad died – our world stopped. It’s only recently that I’ve wanted to write the blog again, but I feel I have to write about this first.
It was about this time last year that Dad got sick, he started getting terrible pains in his stomach – the pains worsening since seeing the doctor for indigestion, and he lost a huge amount of weight in just a few weeks.
Diagnosis was not forthcoming despite emergency appointments, trips to urgent care and finally a call for an ambulance – the pain had become too much. It still took a week or so of being hospitalised to understand what was happening.
Dad had Pancreatic Cancer.
He had bypass surgery – a gastrojejunostomy – to try and help him eat and build up his strength for cancer treatment, and he was able to return home. But it wasn’t long before he was in too much pain again, taking to his bed – we had to face the reality that the cancer was too much in control.
Dad didn’t want to go back to hospital, or even a hospice – a cocktail of drugs was all he had, he was barely drinking, certainly not eating. As terrifying and difficult as it was, we cared for him at home. Night-time carers came for the last week, and for his last two nights they were Marie Curie nurses – they were amazing!
Dad died with me and Mum by his side.
For a while you are thrown into the practicalities of what needs to happen and no-one can tell how or when grief will take hold of you. It is such a personal thing.
For me, grief is not “a process”, time is not “a healer” – they are common phrases that get thrown at you, usually when people don’t really know what to say or do.
My grief is still as raw as that day, over time I have learned to cope with my emotions, but I will not heal. This is with me every day now, but I do not wish it away, for that would be to wish away our love and wonderful memories.