It’s been a terrible long time since my last post and I’m very sorry.
The thought of writing this post was quite painful. Because it means that my dad really is dead.
The hospice he lived in for about 2 months was very good. The carers were friendly, the food was good, his room was big with some pretty furniture.
It took us about 15 minutes to get to him by car and about 25 minutes by train.
It was very weird. Just visiting my dad, not actually living with him anymore.
He came home four times and each time it was more exhausting for him.
He could hardly walk, climbing stairs was nearly impossible. He spoke less, got tired really fast and also became impatient.
At his last weeks he got a wheel chair.
A few days before he died was his 53rd birthday, so his siblings, their husbands/wives, his parents and of course his wife and kids celebrated with him.
My mum had made him a cake (he had been able to express which one he’d like to have) and had to feed him.
It was weird.
I had driven him from his room into the common room, where the celebration had taken place.
Somehow his guests had overerstimated his condition, they had looked shocked and sad.
During this hour my dad had looked quite often to me. He couldn’t speak properly anymore, mostly nodded or shook his head to answer. I will never forget his look. The way he stared at me with his blue eyes I had always loved. Like he wanted me to help him, but also full of unconditional love and trust.
In his last few weeks we started to hope he would die soon. Because it was horrible to watch as his condition got worse and worse.
And I felt even more horrible for hoping that.