No one can ever begin to explain what it feels to loose someone to this hellish disease, it doesn't even deserve a name, and yet the word Cancer has more power than any other word. Loosing a parent means you've lost unconditional love. You've lost a comfort of knowing someone is always there for you no matter what happens, and you feel like you've lost apart of yourself.
It's been nearly four months since we lost the most caring, wonderful man. I feel his absence everyday. One of the hardest concepts for me is that I won't have my dad to walk me down the isle one day, something I never even thought about. I miss his laugh already, the way he scrunched his whole face up. I even miss his giant nose! I worry myself thinking I cant remember any memories, but when I'm not trying to think, slowly something comes back. I still live with the feeling of he'll be home soon and when I have a reality check its sure does hit hard.
Life suddenly goes from being in this bubble of hope, appreciating the small things and learning to find positives in everything, to trying to adjust, accept and be able to let your mind rest. In every situation I think of him. Every time I wake up I think whats the weather like, what would he be doing? Driving to work I now think of how I would always try and beat him out the door because I'd get stuck behind his slow driving, but looking back I now feel grateful because the huge smile and wave he gave me as he turned off was so precious.
To be honest the last three months have been spent feeling like I'm floating through day to day life and trying to keep a straight head. It's one of those complicated emotions to explain, but I've realised you don't need to explain anything. Nothing can be rushed and all emotions are welcome. It's almost an empty feeling but then grief hits, and it hits hard. I have taken comfort in knowing I will never be alone, he will forever be here.
The day of the funeral mum took the dogs for a walk, buzzards circled her and we knew it was a sign. He is at peace and pain free, having that to hold onto fills me with a full heart but at the same time a completely heavy one.
The second the hearse arrived I felt immediately overwhelmed. How can my loyal, loving dad be in there? In fact none of us could really look at the coffin. It felt like we were in the car for hours, passing people on route to the crematorium and village friends bowing in respect as we drove past.
Arriving at the crematorium and seeing the amount of cars on the road was a real eye opener of just how loved he was and still is. Two hundred plus people gathered outside to pay their respects.
My poor 80 year old gran was greeted by me jumping on her as soon as I got out the car. Family gathered around and I felt so unbelievably loved. Every single person was there there because my dad had made an impact on them. That makes me so unbelievably proud.
The service itself was lovely, people crammed into the crematorium, into the hallway and listening on the speakers outside. Work friends arrived in uniform.
It was a bit of a blur, but I remember for the first time in a long time my mum didn't mime the hymns but actually sang (quite lucky you couldn't hear that dad! hah) We found enough strength to have a little laugh, amongst the crying and hand squeezing.
I wanted it to end as quick as possible, but a tiny part of me wanted to hold onto the time we had there, because soon his body would be gone, and that made it all real.
Once the ceremony finished, we were greeted with so many hugs and so much love from people I had never met! A line in his eulogy said "Tim was a floater, he floated around at Tim time." It certainly showed, by the amount of people who turned up, young and old.
There is no time limit to grief and I am so, SO lucky I have people in my life who don't need me to explain how I feel, they just know and lift me back up. From the very beginning of diagnosis I have been showered with love from everyone I have needed. Friendships have become stronger, and I have leant on people in a complete different way than before. In life we will get handed positives, but the strongest support is the one where you are helped to be lifted up from rock bottom, only to be stronger than before. I owe everything to my support system.
My journey is just beginning, and although it's going to be incredibly tough, I know I will gradually get stronger, and will try to make a difference for people in similar situations.
Dad....I cant get used to not calling anyone dad. For 23 years you've shown me love and you've shown me patience. Thank you for never being afraid, for always smiling and giving me so much faith that I will be ok.
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