The Musings Of An Opinionated Sod [Help Me Grow!]

Before I go on, it would be worth reading it here.

I must admit it made a big impact on me, mainly because I went through it myself.

My father had been ill for a number of years – and on 2 previous occasions, 3 months apart – I had rushed back from Australia because I’d been told he was expected to only have 24 hours to live.

However, as I’ve written many times before, I still thought we would see a miracle and I thought that right up until the last few days of his life.

Dad had become ill again over Christmas and I had flown back from Sydney.

He was in a bad state … apart from complications from his stroke, he had blood poisoning.

He was ill. Worse than I had ever seen him.

And I remember this next moment with terrifying clarity.

Mum and I were by Dad’s side when a Doctor came to see him in the early afternoon.

Afterwards, he looked at Mum and me and gently told us that there was not much he could do but make him comfortable.

He asked if that is what we wanted.

I said yes, tears welling in my eyes.

He then asked if I – and it was specifically me – understood what that meant.

For the first time in years, I could no longer deny the inevitable, my Father was going to die and he was going to die soon.

I didn’t want that. I wanted him to be with me forever. But this was the moment of truth … where what I wanted was not nearly as important as what he needed and the best way I could show how much I loved him was to allow him to go, with dignity and peace.

As I nodded to the doctor, the tears started pouring down my cheeks because after years of my wonderful mum trying to gently coax me into realising the severity of his situation, I finally realised it.

I think we had a couple more days together until that Saturday, on January 16th 1999, when we were called into the hospital early in the morning.

I am incredibly grateful we were with him … that he knew we were by his side as he slowly walked the bridge between life and death … but as much as that day represents unbelievable sadness to me, I will always be grateful to that Doctor.

He was empathetic without being condescending.

He was factual without being cold.

He was present, without being overbearing.

His actions not only ensured we could give my Dad the peace he needed … the peace he deserved … he gave my Mum and me a chance to say the final words we wanted to say. The words that still bring tears to my eyes 17 years later.

I wish I could remember the name of that Doctor.

I remember he was quite young … but if I was to see him again, I’d say thank you.

Because while he wanted to ensure we knew the reality of the situation, he did it with respect and grace and while I may have once thought those truths were the last things you’d want to hear, you realise they are the best demonstration of someone who appreciates humanity.