The first of the firsts

 People talk about the first year as being hard, as you have all the first anniversaries, birthdays, Christmasses etc etc, and you have to navigate your way through what everyone wants/expects from all of those. It’s Father’s Day in a couple of weeks - I want to stick my head in the sand to be honest, but I have no idea what we’re going to do/how we’re going to handle it. 

These I can try and prepare for - I will see them coming, even if they do hit like a juggernaut. What’s getting me like a surprise punch in the face is the little corrections. Last night I asked my mum if she wanted to come and see our daughter dancing in a show (we had asked before and originally they had been going to go on a cruise, which is now cancelled obviously). She said yes, and I said to my husband ‘They’ve not seen her dance before’ and then teared up immediately at my own use of ‘they’. They never will. 

Today at the lake I saw a Rottweiler dog, and I was staring a little because they’re fairly unusual. I was sort of mentally preparing for if the owner caught my eye and thought I was either weird or scared (they have a bad rep) and was thinking I’d say ‘My parents have Rottweilers’ - and again caught myself. My mum has Rottweilers. 

I know there will be many, many more of these. 

My dad has died

 Turns out we didn’t have long to wait after all. 

Friday night my mum messaged me to say the nurses had visited and had upped his dose. She said his eyes were going darker and that her mum’s eyes were nearly black just before she died. I offered to go over but Mum said she thought we had a few more days as he was chatty at lunchtime. 

Early Saturday morning I took my two daughters and their friend to cadet camp for the weekend. I was semi-aware that I hadn’t had my usual ‘no change’ text from mum as I would get most mornings, but figured there could be many reasons for that. Then my phone flashed up with an incoming call from her and I pretty much knew. I didn’t answer as my phone bluetooths to the car stereo, and we were under ten minutes from our destination. So I declined the call. 

Five minutes later she rang back. I answered with ‘Mum I have the girls in the car, I’m just about to drop them off, can I call you back in ten minutes?’ and she just said ‘He’s gone’. 

I just didn’t know what else to do but to keep driving. I knew at the very least I had to drop their friend off. Alice started crying, as did I, otherwise we were just silent. 

I told the girls it was up to them what they wanted to do, that there was no right or wrong. Alice just shook her head. We arrived, and Poppy said she thought she wanted to continue with the weekend (she’s very dedicated to cadets). I was still crying as I hugged her, aware that I looked like an over-anxious parent who couldn’t bear to be parted from her precious child for over 24 hours. One of the adults asked if everything was ok (I guess I was crying harder than I realised) and I just blurted ‘I’ve just found out my father has just died’. He turned to the two older girls and said ‘You don’t have to be here. It’s not important’ or similar and then I had to say ‘Oh no, this one [the friend] isn’t mine, she’s ok!’. Poppy was teary but went off ok. Her friend very sweetly gave me a hug. 

So we drove home. Oscar wasn’t up yet (it was only 8.40am by this point) and I called Thomas in Florida to let him know. I put some stuff in a bag and texted my brother to let him know I was on my way. He replied ‘drive fast, the undertakers have been called’. 

Driving was really hard and I couldn’t stop thinking about the fact I was about to see my Dad dead, and my first dead body. I had to whack the stereo up to full volume to drown out the thoughts. 

I made it before the undertakers and Mum asked if I wanted to see him. I said yes, out of a combination of respect, because I felt she wanted me to, and because I felt I should woman up and break the fear - death has become so removed from our normal experience and I thought the longer I put it off, the worse it would be. 

I am ambivalent about having seen him. He was (obviously) still in the same bed, looking largely the same. Still him but not human at the same time. I’ve heard a few people say that dead folk look like waxworks, but it wasn’t even that - like an uncanny valley sensation. However his mouth was agape and that was really hard. It’s only 36 hours later, so not long at all, but that’s the image that is sticking with me at the moment. I also kept expecting his eyes to pop open at us coming in and talking. Mum tried to shut his mouth but couldn’t. She said I could touch him, but that felt like a step too far. My brother came in the room and Mum said ‘It’s her first time seeing a dead body’ and he said ‘Mine too.’ To be honest, I just haven’t had the opportunity before really (and I don’t walk a dog, although I do run). 

The undertakers suggested that we be in a different room when they took him out as ‘it’s not nice’ - my mind is trying very hard not to think about all the reasons that might be (mostly involving them karate chopping him in the stomach to carry him out more easily, or some kind of Weekend at Bernie’s style shenanigans). 

So we did, they just went, my brother went and then it was just… well now what do we do? So we dusted all the many cobwebs from the ceiling (just because we noticed them and thought we might as well), we deleted the tv programmes he had on series link off the hard drive player. I then went and got some lunch which we ate out in the garden under the wisteria, which was just…nice. We talked about him, but also about other things. 

Then we went through my mum’s physical and phone address books and texted/emailed the people she hadn’t already informed. A few of her friends only had landlines, which just felt far too much. Mum called to ask them to take the hospital bed away, but they couldn’t do that until Friday. She is going to sleep in the spare bed because she doesn’t want to see it. Thomas FaceTimed, and it felt a bit weird to say ‘actually we’re…ok’. But we were/are, for now. Sad, incredibly sad but as I texted my friends, right now feels so much less stressful than the last few weeks. 

She said she didn’t need or want me to stay, so I came home. 

My Dad is dying, part six

 I know! He’s dragging it out…

Wednesday I felt calmer - not sure if that was because it’s hard to stay on high alert all the time, or because I had a swim planned and something to focus on once awake. I did a longer swim, partly because I have a distance swim booked in the future, and partly because in the water no one could contact me and so everything was theoretically fine. 

We visited Thursday. The nurse came out and said it would be a good idea for him to be on a syringe driver - I know informed consent is essential generally speaking, but I’m not sure asking someone who is hallucinating left right and centre is actually the best idea. But he agreed. She also asked him if he knew how ill he was, and when he said he didn’t understand what’s been going on, she basically told him he doesn’t have long left. 

The whole visit was hard. I always want to just turn on my heel and ‘nope’ it out of the room. In some ways it was harder with my husband there because I was almost seeing it all fresh through his eyes (last time he saw my dad a couple of weeks ago he was able to walk and stand). Usually I can push the feelings down and cry later but this time I just kept snivelling. 

We were both able to say our goodbyes, without explicitly saying it might be the last time. Dad said he would miss my husband <ooof>. The nurse laid out all the end of life medications and wrote down which numbers my mum should call when. 

She told my mum it’s a matter of days - certainly under a week. The district nurses will come out twice a day and give him medication and review.

Friday mum said they’ve increased the dosage - so essentially they slowly send him off.

So now we wait.