Just incase you thought the previous few days more ‘light hearted’ posts represented a change in my attitude, prepare yourself to be brought down to earth with a very large, potentially depressing bump.
Today would have been my Dad’s birthday.
Seventy.
When I was a kid that seemed so old but now at 38, it seems pretty young – which makes the fact he’s been gone for almost 10 years, even more tragic.
I’ve written many times how much I loved/love him … and how much his loss has/still affects me … but it’s on days like this that the sadness comes out of hiding [and ‘hiding’ is the perfect word] and decides to smash me in the face.
I know I should be at peace now so much time has passed, but I’m not …
Infact I am convinced my mourning hasn’t even really begun.
I appreciate this might make you feel uncomfortable – and that’s not what I want to achieve – I’m just writing it because it’s how I feel.
The thing is, not enough people talk about death.
Whenever the subject is brought up people tend to go one of 4 ways …
1/ Clam up
2/ Try to change the subject
3/ Try to make a joke of the whole thing
4/ Focus almost exclusively on the ‘good times’ they were alive
… and whilst it is never an easy thing to talk about, death shouldn’t be hidden because in the long run it ends up causing you even more pain.
My Father was ill for almost 4 years.
In all those 4 years, it was only until the last few days of his life that I realised the inevitable was going to happen.
Actually I should rephrase that …
In all those 4 years, it was only until the last few days of his life that I decided to accept what I had known all along.
I had been living my life in denial … watching my wonderful Mum not just care for her beloved husband, but try to gently coax her only son into understanding things weren’t going to get better.
It was the ultimate demonstration of love and yet I didn’t realise it till much, much later.
I know I’m not the cleverest person in the World but I’m also not the most stupid – which is why I find it amazing that despite every sign screaming otherwise, I was able to convince myself he was going to get better.
Actually not just better … but back to how he was, as if nothing had ever happened.
Whenever there was a slight positive – however innocuous – I would walk about as if he had proved the entire medical profession wrong, totally ignoring the fact that every time he took one step forward, it was generally followed by 15 steps back.
However my belief wasn’t entirely unfounded …
You see on 3 separate occasions we were told he had 24 hours to live and yet 3 on separate occasions he demonstrated how a will to live can defy any supposed certainty.
However him proving the Doctors wrong didn’t mean he was going to recover, it just meant there was going to be another delay before the inevitable – so on that terrible day where even I had to accept he was getting worse, I finally got to understand that the gentle words my Mum had been saying were designed to protect me rather than upset me.
Everyone knew I had been in denial … Mum, Doctors, friends – even Dad – which is why when we were told we had the choice of stopping his pain or keeping him alive, I was repeatedly asked whether I understood the implications of our choice to let him be ‘free’.
God, I’m 38 and that last sentence has made my eyes fill up.
The thing is, it was the easiest and yet toughest decision of my life.
I didn’t want him to go … selfishly I wanted him to be with me and Mum … but that’s the thing with love, you understand that sometimes you have to put what you want second and even though the decision was ultimately out of my hands … or my Mum’s … or even the Doctors … by doing this, it meant I could start to face the realities of the situation and let the pain and anguish I’d held for 4 years, go.
At this point I’d just like to say to my dear friend Paul, you were absolutely wonderful – the best – and even though you won’t know what you did, you just need to know that alongside my Mum, you made all the difference.
Anyway, a few days later my Dad passed peacefully away with us by his side – and whilst we’d been able to say our goodbyes – I know that because I’d refused to accept or talk about the possibility of death up until the very end, my emotions about the whole situation are still very raw, so without wishing to sound like I’m preaching or being condescending – I encourage you to tell the people you care about that you love them and should you ever get into a conversation about death – don’t fall into the stereotype answers I detailed above, talk about it, it might just make you feel better down the road.
Happy Birthday Dad – wish you were here.