I don't have a dad any more
Yesterday my life changed in a way I have anticipated for a while, but never expected. It's all a bit strange so far, and I guess I just need/want to capture the moment, because I don't know what today or yesterday will be like as a memory.
After 92 yrs on planet earth dad didn't need his old body any more, so left it behind. I'm sure he'll get a new one later, but for now the one with the sore back, the blue finger and the slightly scrambled timeline is finished with. One good thing is that the dementia only changed the last 18 months or so. I was going to say "only robbed us of" but that's not really true. I haven't been robbed of anything. Dad was still dad.....just a different kind of dad. And he never lost us......he was with us till the end.
I've no idea how it would have been for us if Murray and I had been with him in our pink visor masks, yellow bibs and blue gloves at the end, but ultimately it doesn't matter. He died.......that was hard to type.......with a caring young nurse holding his hand.....yes I did well up when she told us. It's now part of our history, and we can't change it.
So any regrets? I don't think so. Not at this stage. My last visit to Muirton ward was spent fixing his hearing aids and helping him on the loo. He didn't even have a shite......but thought he might, so it was worth it.
I would rather remember the previous two visits when he waved to me as I headed to the car, because he was engaging with me, but my protective shield wants me to block that, because leaving him in a psychiatric assessment unit, where he was looking at the other patients and knew they were mentally ill, and he, in that moment wasn't, was really hard. The reflection of him waving in the wing mirror of a Ford Focus didn't make a great picture on an iPhone, but it made a permanent imprint in my wherever my emotions are stored.
I've been dealing with everything ok so far, or so I tell myself, and I'm sure I will, with a few breaks along the way, with the exception of the box going into the ground. That will break me. It's not something I want to do, and I'll rehearse it umpteen times before it happens, but I've got to just do it.
Then there'll be a void.
No service of remembrance, no after grave tea and sausage rolls with well-wishers saying kind things to make us cry (ok so that's not all bad), but just a nothingness. I'm not looking forward to that, and I might drink too much single malt that night. (For the record, I need to get through this without too much alcohol, but have had a wee dram tonight, just because I can).
I posted the news on Facebook late tonight, and people are posting kind comments as expected. I hate it when people are nice.....its much easier to be cold and block out the emotions.
Ah well. He wasn't the worst dad in the world. I guess its what a scotsman says in the circumstances.
After 92 yrs on planet earth dad didn't need his old body any more, so left it behind. I'm sure he'll get a new one later, but for now the one with the sore back, the blue finger and the slightly scrambled timeline is finished with. One good thing is that the dementia only changed the last 18 months or so. I was going to say "only robbed us of" but that's not really true. I haven't been robbed of anything. Dad was still dad.....just a different kind of dad. And he never lost us......he was with us till the end.
I've no idea how it would have been for us if Murray and I had been with him in our pink visor masks, yellow bibs and blue gloves at the end, but ultimately it doesn't matter. He died.......that was hard to type.......with a caring young nurse holding his hand.....yes I did well up when she told us. It's now part of our history, and we can't change it.
So any regrets? I don't think so. Not at this stage. My last visit to Muirton ward was spent fixing his hearing aids and helping him on the loo. He didn't even have a shite......but thought he might, so it was worth it.
I would rather remember the previous two visits when he waved to me as I headed to the car, because he was engaging with me, but my protective shield wants me to block that, because leaving him in a psychiatric assessment unit, where he was looking at the other patients and knew they were mentally ill, and he, in that moment wasn't, was really hard. The reflection of him waving in the wing mirror of a Ford Focus didn't make a great picture on an iPhone, but it made a permanent imprint in my wherever my emotions are stored.
I've been dealing with everything ok so far, or so I tell myself, and I'm sure I will, with a few breaks along the way, with the exception of the box going into the ground. That will break me. It's not something I want to do, and I'll rehearse it umpteen times before it happens, but I've got to just do it.
Then there'll be a void.
No service of remembrance, no after grave tea and sausage rolls with well-wishers saying kind things to make us cry (ok so that's not all bad), but just a nothingness. I'm not looking forward to that, and I might drink too much single malt that night. (For the record, I need to get through this without too much alcohol, but have had a wee dram tonight, just because I can).
I posted the news on Facebook late tonight, and people are posting kind comments as expected. I hate it when people are nice.....its much easier to be cold and block out the emotions.
Ah well. He wasn't the worst dad in the world. I guess its what a scotsman says in the circumstances.
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