I meant to post this yesterday.
I never really understood the "I think about someone everyday" or the "I miss them so much it hurts" before, but it is true and I miss and think about him desperately.
I felt sick all day thinking about and counting down till the official time of death (3.23) but luckily B&B from Stockport came down so I didnt have to clockwatch.

And I was going to tell you all about the day itself.

I was going to work that day, in the morning, do 5 hours, and pick E up and take her to the hospice, so she could say her goodbyes.
Apparently the Hospice had rang at some point during the night, to tell Mum that he'd had a rough night, and just as we were about to step out the house at 8am they rang again.
"We should get down there." They said. "This could be the beginning of the end."
She ran upstairs to wake The Brat and we drove to the Hospice, parking carelessly.
His breathing was harsh and rough again, gurgling.
Mum rang I's partner G to come down, sit with us.
He woke and he couldnt talk, there was mucus or something blocking his throat.
We put films on, Chitty Chitty Bang Bang and Shrek, and The Brat slept, and we waited.
They gave him an injection to try and help him, and I asked him if it made it easier and he shook his head.
I remember... I remember him saying all the time, towards the end that he was scared. The day before... "I'm scared, but this isn't going to beat me, I'm still fighting it."
And thats what sticks the most that day. I tried to talk to him, normally, but I didnt know what to say, you couldnt tell if he was sane or whether he'd gone into one of his hallucinations.
I hope to god he was insane.
The thought of him being scared, and sane and not having any way to express that is one that haunts me.
And... all through this, ever since he was diagnosed as terminally ill, I knew in my heart, I didnt want to be there for the end. I'd do anything else, everything else I could, but I COULD not watch my Dad's last moments on Earth. Could not be there for the last breath he drew.
but I also knew, that if they needed me there, I would be there.
So we waited, and sometimes he slept, peacefully and sometimes he was awake.
And I was texting E to say not to come up to the Hospice, that this was the last thing Dad had wanted, for people to see him like this, I tried to shield her from it, I hardly let her in the house when he was going crazy.
And The Brat drove me home to get changed out of my work uniform, and he decided to go into work.
I dont know why. I suppose, we'd been told it could last for hours this bit.
So he drove me back to the Hospice and I got out the car and he left again.
And G caught me and took me into the day room bit. The Cunting Builder was supposed to be bring the Pastor guy up, that we'd met before, the one we wanted to take the service.
And they were in the room with Mum and Dad and I couldnt stand the thought of listening to anything "Churchy"
So we waited in the day room.
And then the Cunting Builder and the Pastor came, and I'll tell you now, what happened, the way it was, the way My Mum described it to me.
"We were talking and I noticed that he was asleep and the sleep aponea was kicking in again.
So I asked them to go get Eddie (his special nurse) and I knew he was going, and everytime he was stopping I spoke to him. "Come on Graham, keep breathing" and the gaps between got bigger and bigger and I said "Its ok Graham, go to sleep now." And he died then.
Eddie came and confirmed it and I asked them to go get you"
And I walked down the corridor, feeling sick, not wanting to see him die, not knowing yet, but feeling this was what all those months and the year had all been about. This, my proper challenge, to look after them all and not wanting to go into that room.
And I came into the room and I sat in her lap and I stroked his hair, and there was a sigh. I think it was the gas leaving his body, or something.
And I asked her, how we knew when.. when it happened?"
And she looked at me and then at G and told me that it had just happened and asked her to get The Brat, but not tell him.
And I was glad, so glad that I almost felt sick with it, glad that I had been spared the final part. And bad that I was so glad.
And the Cunting Builder came in with the Pastor, who asked if we wanted to hear something from the Bible, I dont know what he said, something about being glad that he had lived.
And I looked at the clock and out the window, there was a magpie, I remember thinking "one for sorrow"
We sat there with him for the twenty minutes that it took for The Brat to come back.
And he flung himself into a chair, and said what I had just said. "When will it be?"
Mum told him, and He leapt up, sobbing, threw his arms around Dad and ran from the room.
Eddie returned and asked if we were ok and ready to fill in the forms.
He led us into a room and told us all the stuff we needed to know, gave us advice about services, about how to register a body.
That he'd wash him and move him into the Chapel of Rest and we could go see him there any time if we wanted.
We never did.
I think his Mum did though.
And my Mum wept a little and I sat there dry-eyed and unable to grasp it, sometimes I think I'm still unable to grasp that I'll never see my Dad again.
I miss him so much. I wish he was here whole and well and laughing with me about our poor football season, and helping me with the birds or playfighting with me.