memento mori


Tomorrow will be 4 weeks since I lost my dad.

If you remember my earlier post in September, I wrote about the inevitability of his passing but it still came as a shock when he died on the morning of 24th October surrounded by his family.

My dad was a quiet man, never one to put himself forward and he accepted and fought his illness with dignity and strength.
This is probably one of hardest things about losing him that he fought so hard, during this and and with his previous cancer battles, that he just got on with it as best as he could. When he physically wasn’t able to do the things he took for granted, simple things like running to the shop for my mum, you could see the frustration wearing on him.

I had a phone call just after work on Monday 23rd from mum telling me I should come home.
I hurried back to my childhood home and my dad was slipping away.

He had spent the afternoon chatting and playing with my nephews, as it was Sam’s birthday. Once the cake was eaten and the boys headed home, I like to think that my dad felt his work was done and he could go on.
Always one to put his family first, he made sure he wouldn’t mar Sams birthday.

He fought hard and it was a harrowing experience to sit through but he passed away at 4.40am the following morning while I held his hand. 

Even a month later, I feel like I’m still in shock. I get heavy waves of melancholy but the tears won’t come. There will be time to grieve for my dad but I’m still remembering with fondness the man and not the memories.

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