“I wasn’t afraid to die, I’d just come to accept it.”

– Dad

These are a few of the last words my Dad wrote to me in a letter just before his death. Dad found out he had six weeks to live at the end of August this year, on the last day that I saw him in person.

Due to Covid, I wasn’t able to visit him in the hospital. I could also tell that he was wary of having me in the house as he was so compromised from treatment. I booked a flight home for the Saturday morning and luckily he was discharged on the Friday night. I saw and spoke to him for a few hours.

Knowing now that my Dad was aware of his prognosis that night, I just don’t know how he sat there chatting to me with that news burdening him. He never told a soul, not me, his wife or even his brothers. For that, he is truly the strongest man I have ever known. Dad was so laid back in life that he would never want to put the weight of that prognosis on anyone.

The anticipatory grief had begun for me. For some reason, I always knew when things with Dad weren’t quite right, without anyone saying anything to me. There were times I would know to travel back home and my instincts were right.

I felt like I’d come round to accept the inevitable sooner than others. I don’t know whether that’s because I’m more of a realist or it’s my healthcare background, but I’d mentally prepared myself for the worst a few months before when I’d heard about the progression of Dad’s condition.

I tried my hardest to get Dad treatment in the UK. I knew what treatments he’d had, what stage he was at and what the next stages of treatment could be. His only option was Car-T Cell treatment in the UK which isn’t even licensed for general use yet. I had contacted countless consultants, had so many emails in response but unfortunately the treatment wasn’t that easy to obtain. If Dad had had this option in May, I believe he may have been fit enough for it. But towards August/ September time, he deteriorated as the disease took over.

I struggled to enjoy my birthday or the prospect of my new job but those things are meaningless when a loved one is so unwell. Dad thanked me for all the work I was putting in but deep down he knew he wouldn’t be able to travel to the UK.

I am so grateful that I got a phone call with Dad two days before he passed. He began to slur his words in the final weeks but that day he seemed more like himself, chatting away as usual and sending his love. My only regret is not staying on the phone longer and not giving him a hug when I last saw him. Unfortunately Covid restrictions stopped that happening.

I wonder if we ever truly accept the death of a loved one or do we just learn to live with it. I believe Dad did accept his death, although there were many things he wanted to do and places he wanted to go. He kept his calm and collected nature until the very end but could fight no longer.

It is now my time to carry on his wishes and to travel to the places he wanted to go to, with him on my shoulder. I’ll carry his old film camera with me, just like he did back in the 80s and I’m looking forward to all our adventures together.

– Jovi