Peace

Today, at 1.00 in the morning, my Dad died. He was two weeks short of his 95th. birthday. The last of several generations of doctors, his first assignment after medical school was to be airlifted to Belsen for the liberation of the concentration camp, an experience he did not talk about for a very long time. After 35 years as a GP in Suffolk, he retired to Somerset, where for the past few years he lived in an assisted living scheme in Taunton.
He remained fit and independent until February this year, when he began to become breathless with heart and circulatory difficulties. These gradually worsened, much to his frustration, but otherwise he remained strong and his mind stayed as sharp as ever. In the final few weeks he needed constant care, but he was able to remain at home, although from time to time he would say that we shouldn't have to do all that we did.
But we wanted to.