Growing up my Dad and I were always very close, we had our problems just like any other father and daughter (sometimes he would leave for long periods of time for unexplained reasons) but overall we had a special bond which people could see just from looking at us.
At the beginning of 2016 my dad began to get pains in his legs and abdomen which hurt him severely and caused him to limp, going to the doctors he told me that it was kidney stones, a problem that's painful but not too serious if treated in his case. It wasn't until July 3rd 2016 that he sat me down and told me that he had cancer and the worst case scenario is he would die in three years; I remember screaming and him telling me that everything would be alright.
My mother was total support throughout the whole ordeal even though her and my father split when I was a year old and her devastation rivalled my own; over the summer he tried several different medications none of which did much and was admitted into hospital at the end of August beginning of September where he had chemotherapy and radiotherapy and honestly seemed happier and less in pain. I came to visit him one day and he was hugging me while he read a report from the doctors and not knowing it was personal I read it and found out that they had predicted he had a few months left to live. It was so shocking that I didn't know what to feel and I rang my mother crying and not knowing how to cope.
Dad was in and out of the hospital and gradually started to decline over the months focusing on his one goal: Christmas. It was an emotional time as it was the last biggest landmark (apart from my birthday the year
before) before we knew he would pass away. It was a lovely day and one I'll never forget but after the holidays my dad started to withdraw from everyone, the equilibrium from Christmas gone and leaving the fact that he knew he was going to die.
During January my father cut all connection with everyone, including me, except one friend who brought him food and for three weeks I was left to worry about him and the time he had left. My mother finally got through to him and in tears told me that on the phone he had been throwing up and crying saying how depressed he was. I finally got to see him after three and a half weeks as he had been moved into hospital for his final days and was devastated to see he had become skeletal.
He spoke a few words to me before his eyes glazed over and he didn't speak again, as the days passed he rarely spoke apart as he was heavily drugged (to stop the pain) apart from one time where I was crying and his eyes met mine and he asked me if I was okay - his last words to me. Several people came to visit including his family who I had never met and who he hasn't seen in 20 years and on the 10th February 2017, he passed away peacefully his mother and my mother by his side.
I still can't believe it and at his funeral everyone was astounded that I didn't shed a tear; they don't know that inside I felt like half of my identity had been split. Now, just over a month later things are slowly going back to the old routine but nothing is the same, for anyone going through the same thing my heart is with you and your family and yes it's unfair, but you're not alone.
Page updated 17 March 2017