Its funny the things you remember.
I remember everything about the day before and the day he got put into the hospice and I remember the day he died and I remember the funeral, but everything inbetween those days is kinda blurred.
I tried to write them down once. I didn't, couldnt bear the thought of forgetting everything that happened. But I couldnt.
Not because it made me sad, because it did, but I couldnt quite place the right days and right incidents together.
But I remember the day he went into the hospice. Today. One year ago.
I remember the night before I had to sleep in their room, cos he was frightened and Mum was frightened, needed me there to help her. To reassure him, from the Terminal Terrors.
I remember going to work today, then, absolutely exhausted with no sleep and going to bed very early.
And then I remember the phonecall. Our house, now having 3 floors has those groovy phone things where you can call to the next floor.
"come up here a minute" Mum said. "Listen to Dad"
And I listened to him sleep, sleeping like a dog does, with his eyes partially open.
And I heard the noise, the gargling and rattling in his chest. The Lung had finally collapsed with the pressure of the Tumour inside it.
I looked at him, and looked at her and shook my head.
"It dont sound good."
She agreed with me. " I asked J and T (her best mates) to come round. Her kids had a lot of chest infections, maybe she'll know what it is"
So we waited and we rang the local doctors and I helped Mum prop him up a bit.
J and T came round. And I marvelled and was insanely jealous that the Brat can sleep through all this, cos thats all I wanted. I wanted to be asleep and not listen to my Dad dying.
The Doctor came and I sat in the room with Mum while he examined Dad and J and T had fags and tea downstairs.
He listened to Dad for a bit and tried to talk to him, Dad was barely coherant.
He came out with it bluntly. I dont suppose there is no other way.
"He's dying. It may be six days from now, it may be 6 hours, but you need to prepare for the worst."
We got Dad up, He breathed easier then, and we took him downstairs to sit up T had to carry/Bump him down and Dad complained. His skin was so stretched, so thin that almost all contact hurt him.
And it was nearly 4am and I was falling asleep on the sofa and I didnt wanna go to sleep, was frightened of waking up again and being told he had died but Mum forced me, she virtually dragged me up the stairs, promising to get me up when Dad's special Nurse, the one trained to deal in terminal cases came again at 7, but I didnt wake up.
I woke and it was 9 and he had came and gone and arranged a room in the hospice, The Brat had woken, and cried downstairs and there was people in my house. My Dad's so-called Best Mate. The man he'd known since he was 7 years old, the one who promised Dad over and over to look after us, who stood on the funeral podium and promised again. The one who has never spoken to us since. He was there and my Aunty G.
And Dad was sometimes sane, sometimes not.
Mum had made a sign, cos he didnt know where he was. Telling him he was in the living room with her.
"Where am I (insert her real name) I'm so.." And he'd struggle to find the right word and eventually found it again, we'd played a few nights ago, the kiddies board game Frustration and that was the word he used.
"I''m so Frustration."
So she made the sign and he glanced at it every now and then and remembered where he was and it made him happy.
I sat downstairs, not knowing what to do, what to say, glad I wasnt in work.
I remember him looking at me and trying to place me and I smiled and he remembered me and relaxed.
And then his mate went outside for a fag, he was on the verge of tears, struggling to hold it together.
And Dad had developed this strange way of talking, it didnt sound like him, I dont know if the cancer got into his vocal cords or what. Almost Childish.
"Big G, Big G!" See Dads mate was named after his Dad, and his son is named after him too. Big G, Middle G and Little G. Always.
And he got confused about which one and called the wrong one and Dads mate came running, wiping away the tears.
And then the Amublance came and Dad told them off, telling him that they were due at 7, confused between this and the nurse.
They told him that they had to stop for breakfast first and he told me to make them Toast.
So he rode to the hospice in style and we followed.
And we got him settled and he played in one of those LazyBoy chair things. And we called his Brother to come round and his Mum, again more people that we've not heard from since the funeral, although in their case its not entirely surprising.
And his Brother came, and Dad was in and out of sanity and looked and recognised him and He left, ran out the room crying and I dont remember where my Mum and Brat were. Maybe the Brat was in the room with me and Mum talking to the doctors.
Eddie. Eddie was my Dads own special nurse in there, a lovely kind man.
So I looked at My Nan and asked if she was ok and she nodded and I left her with Dad and The Brat and went to take care of My Uncle, who was crying and chain-smoking and all sorts and I felt like crying but I had to take care of him.
And My Bro went to work cos he couldnt face being there and I stayed the whole day and we ate KFC and people came round. My Aunty G was staying the night, to give Mum a real nights sleep and we lived at the hospice, and everyone who needed to see Dad came and got to see them and I'm glad of that.
And I remember the day they called us in as well, but perhaps thats a story for tomorrow, or Saturday.
I dont know, I know i miss him intensely though.