7 months ago if someone had told me my Father would be dead...I'd have laughed in their face. 7 months. That was all the time it took to ravage his body. To not only change him physically....but to rob him of his personality. Each time I saw him...another little piece had disappeared.
Two days ago I sat by his bed, held his hand, told him I loved him and that it was ok to go. Right at that second he did. It was calm, dignified. He was warm, clean, comfortable. He was at home with my Mother and I - just the way he would have wanted.
I haven't really cried. (Why cry when you can shove it down?) I am angry, as pointed out by The Wife. I am intolerant of everything. I am busy. Lists, lists. I've never made so many cups of tea for the many people who have dropped everything to be there for us.
A week ago today I was in London with my parents discussing clinical trial options with consultants. We were laughing saying August would be extremely busy - in and out of London for the trials and also for my IVF appointments. A week later we are planning a funeral. Now he has gone... I won't be going through IVF at the same time as the trials which alleviates so much stress and worry. It's almost like he knew.
Life is short. And life goes on. This much I know.