I’m sitting typing this on our outdoor deck as Summer rain
pelts down on our tin roof. Across our
lake I’m looking at a magnificent double rainbow in all its glory….a sign I hope.
On November 16th, five weeks ago, my adored Dad
took his last breath. It’s weird to
write that…and I still feel disconnected from his death. Like he’s still here, still just a five minute drive away…I
think the closeness we shared has left that imprint in my psyche.
And I hadn’t really processed that I’ve now lost both mum
and dad until a friend used that horrible word ‘orphan.’ I don’t feel like an orphan, but I guess that’s
the term for a person who has no parents.
I already hate that word!
We are never ready for those shocking phone calls are
we? Although you’d think I’d be ready
for them now!
I was enjoying a work conference in picturesque Tasmania
After hearing the news, I was hopeful it would be one of
those strokes where maybe Dad just had a minor deficit in his voice or his
limbs. But after a frantic call to the hospital, the
same one where my mother was and my sister….I learned that dad had suffered a
fatal stroke….the nurse informing me that he would NOT recover….that he’d been
moved to the palliative care room and I needed to get back as quick as I could
if I wanted to say goodbye.
My voice was rushed, desperate, as I asked the nurse to put the phone to his ear, so I could
tell him I loved him, in case I didn’t get another chance….and for my own
selfish reasons, I got to tell him….and that I was on my way home. Dad could only mumble, “cant’ talk, cant’
talk.
All I could think about when I hung up was the date…it was my
mother’s anniversary….however I felt some sort of peace that maybe his time
would be the same day as mums...........
And like after my sister died, I wished for a magic carpet
to transport me home as fast as possible…but as I already know, that’s
impossible too! I had to wait out a
sleepless night, and then through my tears, crazily jump on a plane and pray
that he’d be there when I got the five hours back.
On the plane home I sat biting my nails, willing the plane
home as fast as it could go, crying and trying to hold it together and hide my
pain from other passengers…. until I could rush to his bedside.
I got on the wrong bus at the airport, got stuck in traffic
and drove most of the way with the road blurred through my tears. But I made it.
I made it back for a whole day before he died.
He was unconscious most of that time, a morphine pump
ensuring his passing to the other side with some sort of dignity….pain free.
The bleed in his brain covered almost his entire frontal
lobe….the CT Scan confirmed my greatest fear.
‘My person,’...the only one who will ever truly love me unconditionally.... my rock , my daddy….the first man I ever loved
wasn’t coming back.
.JPG)
In his hospital room was his wife and some of her relatives,
the mood was somber however they wouldn’t stop talking…about insignificant shit…this
is MY dad, my time!
I wanted to yell, “Fucking shut up!” I wanted
time with him alone….just he and I…like when I was a little girl and I’d sit on
the side of his bed every night and listen to what we’d be doing on the farm in
the morning!!!
I got an hour and a half with my amazing dad…..alone,
holding his hand and telling him how much he meant to me, and how much I’ll
miss him, my tears dripping down my face, falling onto his arm.
The pain was burning and I knew it was only a matter of time
until I’d never be in his presence again.
“Dad if you know I’m here squeeze my hand.”
I felt a flutter of his fingers….I know he knew I was there….and
that gives me some comfort….
But I wasn’t there when he went at 3.20am. I was sound asleep, exhausted but figuring
there would be more time tomorrow……you’d think I’d learn by now…….
