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| My dad with Nyah in the Summer of 2009 |
My father was a truck driver and as such listened to talk-back radio on
the road all-day every day. Some time ago as my dad listened to the
radio, for a few weeks running he noticed that quite frequently there was
discussion on prostate cancer or commercials from the Australian Health
Department admonishing men over the age of 55 to get tested for prostate
cancer. Dad started to feel like the
radio was speaking directly to him and he did something about it. I was almost 14 years of age when my father
was diagnosed with prostate cancer. I can’t really say it meant much to me
at that young age and my dad hid things very well. I have mentioned
previously that my father was not much of a talker by way of feelings. Talker
he was, but not the mushy, touchy, feely stuff.
There were a number of avenues dad could have taken to treat the illness
and after much consideration dad opted to have his entire prostate
removed. During this period my uncle, dad’s brother was diagnosed
with cancer of the bladder. The brothers were actually on the cancer
ward of the hospital at the same time.
Cancer is not a disease that just goes away. Even for those
who have fought cancer and have been given full remission, have to have things
monitored. There are periodic blood tests that let one know if the
cancer is at bay. For the next 17 years of y father’s life, he would
have these blood tests, indicating a rise or fall in the blood count. A
rise in the blood count, as far as I could tell was not a good thing and every
quarter when dad would near the time of the test, he would be on edge. He
wouldn’t say anything, but mum and I always knew that it was on his mind.
Over the course my dad’s battle with cancer he remained positive. He
did not sink to the depths of despair, nor did he cry out, shaking his fits at
the heavens screaming “why me”? He got on with his life, doing all
the things he loved.
From 1994 to 2012 my dad’s battle with cancer was a rollercoaster
ride. He had had every kind of treatment there is to keep the cancer
at bay, minus chemotherapy. For some reason dad never wanted any of
that rubbish in his system. His theory was “sometimes the cure is
worse than the complaint”. It was at the end of 2010 that we learned
dad’s cancer had spread to his bones. It was found in his spine,
pelvic bones, neck and a couple of ribs. Me living away from our
home-state made this news seem unreal. I guess I knew dad was
slowing down, I knew he was tiring but when you’re not actually there you feel
somewhat distanced from the reality of it all. My mother, bless her,
oft times would do a big panic too whenever there was unfavourable news
surrounding my dad’s health. Rightly so, this was her companion of
almost 50 years. Sometimes however one would need to get another
perspective and so I would have a quiet chat with dad on the phone to get the
‘real’ story. Dad’s side was always more comforting but I wonder now
if he was just doing the manly thing and putting on a brave face.
I would often think about life without my father. In his
later years his short-term memory was rubbish, but his long-term memory was
sharp. He would repeat the same old stories all the time and many of
us lost our patience with him. I feel sorry for that. It
really wouldn’t have hurt to listen to that story another time. In
fact, I’d give just about anything to hear him tell one of his over-told
stories again.
My sister and I organised a 50th Wedding Anniversary in
December of 2010 for mum and dad. It was a wonderful night. I
wanted it to be a celebration of their lives together, where they got to hear
their ‘eulogy’ whilst in the flesh. I have wondered at funerals when
people say all kinds of wonderful things about the deceased, if the person to
whom they are talking about actually knew their loved ones felt that way about
them. Or had it all been saved for sharing once the person was
gone? Mum and dad’s night was perfect and I could see that dad
enjoyed it.
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| Easter Sunday 2011, Tori's blessing |
In late January 2011, dad became a great grandfather; a wonderful
milestone for the patriarch of our family. At Easter time in that
same year dad came over to Melbourne to celebrate my 30th birthday
with me and also to assist in the blessing of little Tori on Easter
Sunday. Soon after mum and dad returned to Tasmania, dad’s health
really deteriorated. I visited my father in September of 2011 with
my little Tori. My dad looked grey, he hardly moved from off of the
couch and he was constantly cold. It was at this time that I knew my
father did not have long to live.
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| Early September 2011 |
I remember sitting with him on the couch, with my hand in his and having
a very difficult conversation. I looked down at his hands that were
pale white. My father having worked on trucks for most of his life
and always being a tinkerer never had clean hands. They were always
washed clean of course after coming home from work, or having been in the
garden, but the grease from years of trucking life had stained his hands, that
in the creases of his hands there were remnants of a hard-working man. Now
though, those stains were completely washed away, my father’s hands were clean,
soft and white.
I asked my dad if he was scared of dying. He said he was
not. I told him that it was ok for him to go, that we would all be
alright. I told him we would miss him, but that we would take
comfort in knowing that he was free from his pains and discomfort beyond the
veil of this mortal life. He wondered how my mother would manage on
her own living on a large property with a large garden. I told him
not to worry, that mum will be alright.
I said my goodbyes to my father the next day. I did not
expect to see him again in this life.
The weeks rolled on and my mum and I both felt like dad was holding
on. We felt like the past year dad had been holding on to see a few
of those important milestones come to pass in his life. Our little
family was not expected to be home in Tasmania for Christmas. Jim’s
sister was getting married in early February so that was when we planned to go
back down to Tassie. Dad kept holding on.
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| Dad with his possum blossom |
We arrived in Tasmania on Thursday the 2nd of
February. We had a wonderful two weeks with the both sides of the
family. We gathered in mum and dad’s home often. Dad got
to tell stories and have a chat with Jim. He got to cuddle with his
young grandchildren especially his possum blossom (Nyah). On Friday
the 10th of February I became quite sick. I felt
terrible with flu-like symptoms and a concern that I had mastitis. I
went to see my dad so that he could give me a father’s blessing. I
knew that I could seek this from my husband but saw it as an opportunity for
dad to render service at a time when he was limited in what he could do. That
blessing was a blessing of healing and I give thanks that I had that
opportunity. The following day, after being counselled to see a
doctor, I had virtually no signs of mastitis.
On Sunday the 12th of February we all went to church in
the morning. All except mum. She had called my sister
early to tell her that dad was doing so poorly that he could not drink nor take
his medication. Jim and I slipped up with the kids to see dad before
going to church. I was shocked to see my father looking the way he
did. I was certain that his time was drawing nigh. He
could barely communicate. I asked him if he would like for Jim to
give him a blessing of comfort. He agreed. I don’t
remember much of that blessing but the words I do remember were “I bless you
that in the last few days of your mortal probation that you will be able to
express your feelings to your loved ones”.
On the same day in the afternoon, my brother’s twin boys Brad and Arron
were to be ordained to the office of Priest within the Aaronic
Priesthood. The priesthood is the authority of God given to men to
act in His name. It is not something you take upon yourself, one
having authority bestows that authority on another who has prepared themselves
spiritually to be worthy of this ordination.
My father had been in an in-home hospital bed for the last few months
were he received in-home care from community nurses. Brad and Arron
wanted their grandfather (Opa) to be part of the ordination as he had been with
his other grandsons. Dad was a man who honoured his priesthood
responsibilities. I remember as a child and well into my youth my
dad coming in from a long day at work all greasy, then jumping under the
shower, changing into his slacks, shirt and tie and going out to assist in a
blessing, to home teach or attend a church meeting. It was never a
problem and he always tried to represent the Saviour as best as an imperfect
man could.
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| Brad's ordination |
When we all came to dad’s bedside that Sunday afternoon after spending
the morning in church, dad was barely conscious and unable to move. Mum,
my sister and Jim dressed dad in a shirt and tie so that he could be dressed to
assist in the ordination of his grandsons. My father lay in bed,
Brad seated on a cushion on the floor at the side of dad’s bed, and together,
my brother, husband, brother-in-law and my father placed their hands upon
Brad’s head and ordained him. Dad didn’t have the strength to hold
his hands in place so my brother-in-law had to help him. This was
done a second time for Arron only this time his brothers Jake and Brad
assisted. It is a wonderful memory.
That night after the children were all tucked away in bed I went up to
sit with my dad. Mum was scared. She did not want to be a
lone with him in the house if he was to pass in the night. The community
nurses came and washed dad. When I walked them to the door I asked
them if they thought my dad would make it through the night. They
said that he might, but giving his condition they didn’t think so. Dad
had developed what has been titled “the death rattles”. I had never
heard of this but a death rattle is a medical term that describes the sound
produced by someone who is near death when saliva accumulates in the throat
because it cannot be swallowed.
When I went down to my sister’s place (where my little family were
staying), I couldn’t sleep. I crept into my sister’s room around
midnight, she couldn’t sleep either. At 3am after Tori had her early
feed, by the light of the moon, I made my way through the field up to my
parent’s place. I just wanted to be with my dad. When I
walked in the sliding door to the house, I could hear dad breathing. His
breathing had changed and I felt that my dad would live to see another
day. I pulled a doona from my mother’s linen cupboard and took my
place on the couch next to dad’s bed.
One thing I would like to make note of is of how lovely it had been to
see my mother take care of my father the way that she did. In the
quiet moments I had with my father - leading up to what became his final days –
my dad expressed to me on numerous occasions how wonderful mum was with him and
how appreciative he was for everything she did as his carer. He
would say “I’m useless”. For that is how he truly felt.
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Lazarus. This photo is part of a series
that Nyah took without my knowing. |
On Monday the 13th, when mum awoke to check on dad, dad was
oblivious to the fact that I was laying right by him on the couch, I watched as
mum stroked his forehead and gave him a gentle kiss on the brow. Dad
was able to communicate. He was hungry and thirsty and he had mum
running around after him again.
This was the day dad had a second wind. My sister-in-law
Bonnie, who is a nurse, called him Lazarus. We were all stunned at
how alert dad was. By the time Jim and I had gotten the kids ready
for the day and Jim and Levi packed ready to board the boat, Dad was sitting up
in bed after having quite a hearty breakfast. Dad had no
recollection of his condition the previous day.
Jim and Levi said their goodbyes and set off for Devonport to catch the
boat back to the big smoke.
That night, when my girls were tucked away in bed, my sister and I
ventured up the hill to be with mum and dad. Tania (my sister) and I
sat either side of dad on his bed, mum opposite us on the seat of dad’s
walker. Together we talked, reminisced, confessed and laughed. Mum
and dad both laughed, it was laughter that made their whole bodies jiggle.
Later mum had said that dad mentioned what a wonderful time he had had.
The following day, my girls and I were headed back to Melbourne via
plane. Dad’s condition had worsened and we had to say our
goodbyes. I felt at peace. I think we all knew that we
would be back again really soon for dad’s farewell. I call it a
farewell because the word funeral seems to me to be a sad occasion. A
farewell feels more like a “see you again soon”.
Thursday morning things were not sounding good from what mum was saying on the phone. According to mum, dad barely had the strength to communicate. I asked mum to hold the phone to dad's ear. I said "I love you my dad" to which he replied in a voice that was very weak, "love you too". They were the last words I heard my father utter. By Thursday afternoon, dad had not eaten in over 24 hours and was
admitted to hospital. That night I received a call from my
sister-in-law to let me know that the family had all been by his bedside to say
their goodbyes. It was all a waiting game.
Early Friday morning I called mum who was headed to the hospital with my
sister. At 10am when I pulled into my garage after being at
Chadstone, I received a call from mum. Dad had gone. He
had already gone before mum got to him, but she was still able to feel his
warmth. How I wished I could have been there.
I sat in the car alone in my dark garage feeling quite numb for a few
moments, watching through the glass door my children and Jim play in the
courtyard. My dad had gone. Those fears I had as a child
of being without a father had come to pass. But oh how I was
thankful for that time we had together. Oh how I am thankful that I
got to share some really intimate moments with him leading up to his
passing. Oh how I am thankful that he held on that
little bit longer, so that I can hold onto these sweet and precious
memories.
What a blessing it was to have that time to say goodbye to my dad.
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