At the end of 2019, my dad was taken into hospital because he became very unwell. Previous to that I had visited him at home, and he was unwell (he had been on/of all year), he said a few words but was too sick to speak and I remember feeling awkward, which is what I feel so terrible for, but I just didn’t know what to say in that moment.
There is so much guilt from that day, because that was the last time I would ever get to converse with him but I had no idea. I thought it would be okay, we could talk another day.
Few days later he is taken into hospital, and I was so naive, I thought he would get better like all the other times, I thought he was invincible. There were glimmers of hope, but ultimately it never worked out. To this day, I think there were failures, and to find out he died of something he could have survived really hit me hard. Earlier in the year , A&E doctors had sent him home with constipation, even though it was actually something a lot more serious that he ended up getting admitted for when we called out an ambulance again. After being released, he was given no aftercare, was taking morphine to deal with the pain, and was later admitted to hospital again. There is a lot more to address regarding issues concerning his care, and the reason I’m addressing it is because it has affected the grieving process for both me and my mom. There is a continual ‘what if’ hanging over both of us.
The morning he died he had been conscious, he had even asked to go home, but he knew I was coming, Only moments before arriving at the hospital, he slipped into being semi-unconscious. I was with him, and spoke to him (hoping he could hear me) until he passed which was around 30 minutes after I arrived. My mom believes he tried to hold on until I came, but I can’t stop thinking if I had just arrived even a half an hour earlier we could have spoke one last time.
I visited him in the Chapel of Rest, and I thought it would help, but it is actually something that I have flashbacks from, to the point where I can still smell the room. That night I couldn’t sleep alone, and asked my mom to stay with me.
I miss him terribly, barely a day goes by I don’t cry and reminisce about things and think of things I should have done. I can’t comprehend that he’s gone forever, and because I’m in my twenties, I feel like I have been robbed of so much time that we could have had. That my children won’t get to meet the man that I absolutely think the world of, and it breaks my heart.
Even as I’m writing this I don’t think I still really understand that this isn’t temporary.
Is there a moment when it just hits you that he’s gone from living with us?
I thought it would be the chapel of rest, then I thought it would be the funeral, but it hasn’t happened.