The Hardest Day

After arriving home from the hospital last night, Mum and I eventually got to bed at around 1 a.m.  We had spent some time removing all traces of poor Dad's struggle so that it wouldn't be the first thing we were confronted with when starting our first day, and our first Christmas Eve, without him.  There was a massive box full of prescribed medications, a big yellow sharps bin, blankets, footstool, special sturdy chair and raised toilet seat provided by the social services people, plus an electric fan which Dad ran almost constantly to keep him cool the last few days, because he said he was burning up inside even though his hands were cold to the touch.  One thing from hospital we agreed should be permanently on view, though, was this smooth and tactile little wooden cross which fits beautifully into your hand.  It was given to Dad by a chaplain who had taken communion with him in Colchester Hospital soon after he'd arrived there two months ago.  It was a great comfort to Dad, he even took it up to the Royal Brompton with him and always had it to hand on his table.

It was the hardest of days for Mum and me to get through, but we did.  We returned everything at home to how it had been before Dad was taken ill with his breathing three months ago.  We kept breaking down into tears every now and then, and talked about Dad a lot.  We both wanted to go and view him again, which I arranged with the hospital bereavement suite and the coroner's office.  Dad looked so peaceful, as if he'd just fallen asleep on the sofa watching television.  There was no trace of pain on his face.  Sadly, although I had belted round the M25 and up the A12 from my home in Buckinghamshire to the hospital last night, I had arrived half an hour too late to join Mum and my niece beside Dad as he passed away.  His deterioration was rapid during Tuesday, but he was lucid to the end.  Mum is absolutely certain that he had no idea he was about to die.  It seems that the cancer had spread to other parts of his body, and he had another infection on both lungs.  His kidneys and heart were giving out.  There was no more the hospital staff could do for him.  Dad never gave up to the last trying to live for a bit longer, but his body just couldn't carry on any more.  It was his time, and now we must begin the long journey towards acceptance of that.

Christmas will never be the same again.