My truly amazing, inspirational, loving dad passed away Thursday 13th at 6.40am. We have spent a year and three months knowing this day would come, yet knowing it and feeling it are so very different. Nothing could really prepare me for the heartbreak I feel.
He was so selfless, not once did he complain about how unfair it is or the pain he was in. People would ask how he was, and even on the worst days he said " not too bad thanks." His positivity and way of thinking will live in me forever. He continued to put us before himself even up until his last day, something rare that not a-lot of us would do. My dad was, and still is, the bravest man I have ever met. His love, courage and strength could move mountains. I am inspired by his love for the world, his passion for detail and his determination with even the smallest of tasks. A year and three months going through intense chemo, he could have stopped doing anything but no he hoovered, he tasked and most of all he smiled.
Wednesday 12th was our last day with dad. I will forever be grateful (I'm sure Daisy and mum will be too) for just how amazing that day actually was.
Everything in me believes dad knew that was his last day, he gave it everything and more to make it even more special.
Three weeks he was in the hospice, and like I said on a previous post, it took a while to find the perfect balance of drugs to make his pain ease. This resulted in days where dad would be hallucinating alot. His eyes would be open and he would be building something, or fixing an armchair, he couldn't differentiate real life and dreaming. Everything seemed so normal to him, he'd pass us non existent cups to put on the table, and light non existent cigarettes! Something about Wednesday was completely different.
He found what seemed like a burst of new energy, he was holding my hand and squeezing it tight, he always used to do that when we were little, along with some sound effects of course!
previously we would try everything we could to make him comfy so he could sleep, but not Wednesday! Dad was having none of it! He demanded ice cream and coke, he sat with Daisy and I and made us list of things we can do tomorrow. To me that was a sign, him making sure even with him gone, we'll do things and we'll be alright. He kept going, asking us to list more and more things, in the end he said "we'll figure it out tomorrow."
We spent the whole day laughing! Daisy popped him in a wheelchair and went up and down the corridors, dad was smiling and demanding what to look at (the coke machine obviously).
Even in his worst state he was always caring of others, he whipped off his top (well tried to) but when you see double because of drugs its get tricky! After holding my hand he must have thought I was hot too and tried to take my shoulders out of my jumper. He had such a huge smile on his face and I remember daisy and I just laughing, not knowing what he was doing! I can't thank him enough for the memories on that day. The tv channel played shed and buried a million times, but he loved it.
We asked him to give us a sign when is was time to go; maybe a thumbs up or, his favourite, the middle finger; and to let us know when he had reached wherever he was going. I now realise this whole amazing day was our sign! Thinking back now a week later makes me so emotional but with a smile, because that day dad didn't stop smiling and neither did we. The love we have for him will never fade.
6.30am on Thursday mum rang us and said to come to the hospice, he was unconscious. Daisy and I stayed so calm, there was this weird quietness in the house but also peaceful. We drove in, still managing to laugh in the car. We knew exactly what was happening but we needed to smile.
The second we opened the door to dad's room mum turned to us, tears streaming, and said "he's gone" Dad passed away 10 minutes after the phone call to us. Truth be told we think he wanted it to be a moment between just him and his amazing wife.
I felt instantly crushed. I could feel my heart hurt, and I think that pain will stay with me for a while. I broke down in tears, we all did. I kept telling him to come back, asking mum to bring him back.
We sat with him, holding his hand, stroking his hair, telling him we love him, but we know he is no longer in pain. Gosh, writing this has made the leaky tap start again!
My boyfriend, Nick, turned around from his drive to work to come and be with us (although I did make him stop in Tesco for some Tampax). Poor boy got the message from me saying he's gone whilst standing in the line to pay.
We drank tea, cried and hugged. He looked so peaceful, like he was sleeping. I rested my head on his stomach and air came out his mouth! I honestly looked at Daisy like "oh my he is snoring!!" It wouldn't be a proper Bradley day without a little laugh.
We left as the colour started to leave his face. Dad was never pale, even in winter, so we knew it was time to go.
A week on and emotions are everywhere. It took alot to even look through some of these photos. We are trying our best to be normal, to remain afloat and let life happen. We have become even more of a unit, surrounded with love, compassion and lots of cards.
It's hard to tell myself it's real. It feels like he'll just pop up, cracking a joke or laughing about something we don't understand, or I'll wake up to the hoover at 6am.
The last few days with him, in fact the last 23 years with him, have been incredible. It's when I allow myself to remember I am never going to see him again, thats when it hits home and I feel like a deflated balloon.
Us Bradley girls have got this though dad don't panic! We cry because you will be greatly missed, but we smile because we had the pleasure of being with you for so many years.
Walking in Barham woods once we got home from the hospice, looking up and seeing five buzzards so amazingly high and calling for a smaller one to join them. That was our sign. Fly high daddyo, join them and always watch down on us.
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