The 1st of February
I hold you very close to my heart
For this was they day my dear dad would depart
Cancer had eaten his lungs and rewired his brain
And now I would never hear or see him again
The death of a parent is something that really changes you, the death of anyone is traumatic enough but when a mum or a dad dies, it leaves a hole. My dad was unwell for a very long time, both him and my mother. I remember the trips to the hospital thinking, he’s in here to get better, he’ll get better, he’ll get better. With every passing day there was a new complication, an operation they couldn’t do, another seizure, another delay. What could they say? He was dying and they were trying, but his body was tired. Tired of the treatment, tired of the pain, tired of the cancer. He slipped away in the night, I wasn’t there, I’d been on my last day of work experience the day before and I was really tired so I’d gone to my sisters. It was weird because you do imagine these things happening and thinking ‘what would happen if someone told me some really bad news?’ and I still cannot explain the emotions. I was heartbroken/sad/relieved/exhausted and yet somewhat indifferent. How could I feel all these things at one time and yet feel void of all emotion? To watch someone you know go from being capable and strong to fragile and hopeless, only able to only writhe around in pain, it does some things to you. I turned 21 when my dad was ill and this was around the time that his brain tumour started having a big effect on his personality. He didn’t really acknowledge, or rather, he couldn’t acknowledge what was going on or really wish my happy birthday and I remember envying every last person who had an ordinary 21st. I’m scared I’ll forget his voice one day, that time will move on so much that I’ll forget what he looked like too. I miss you my father, I do, I do.