Time to process and let go...part 2

It was official; you had cancer. Mesolthelioma to be exact, caused by asbestos exposure working at a mine decades earlier. Now you knew without a doubt- your time was indeed limited. You were heart broken- there was such little time with the family you had only just rediscovered. For me, this was challenging on many levels. Of course I felt your pain- getting a life sentence like that is devestating for anyone. It was hard also because you desperately tried to cram over 30 lost years into a few brief months. This was overwhelming. You were, to be honest, a very difficult and challenging man. Years of isolation and heartbreak had shaped your already fiesty character and coloured your language and sharpened your temper. It was never directed at me, but being around you was not easy. You were angry at a lot of things, everyone was 'bloody stupid.' You also became increasingly clingy and desperate to be with me when Leon moved to WA to start his new job. I tried- visiting on occassion while you were at the Asbestos home and having you down for a weekend, taking you to church- which you loved, and then for a scenic coastal drive to whale spot. I didn't know it at the time, but you told Leon it was one of the best days of your life. I feel so guilty because I found you challenging. Not much of a daughter. I gave all I could give- and it made you happy. Maybe I am a good daughter?

I needed to see my mum, so I went down to Tassie for a brief stay around my 39th birthday. I didn't tell her about you- the whole point of my trip was to heal the rift between us. Her partner ruined that, and I came home so upset. I knew, despite mum's words, that she would stay, and that upset me more. I had missed several calls from you- but I was relieved for the lack of reception as you were exhausting me. You were now in a nursing home and hated it and wanted me to come and get you out. You hated almost everything, so I wasn't surprised. I said I couldn't help- yet of course I felt torn.

The day after I arrived home from my trip, I received a phone call from the Prince Charles Palliative Care Unit. You had caught a cab to the hospital and weren't expected to live the night. I felt like throwing up but told them I was on my way.

Sarah was too ill to come, so Lizzy and I arrived as soon as I could while trying not to speed. Seeing my father, frail, near death and incredibly thin was so shocking, Lizzy and I burst into sobs. The nursing staff asked us to wait outside while they tended to you before we could go in. Lizzy was distraught. She said she couldn't do this, but I told her it was ok, she could.

When we entered your room, the nursing staff told us of your condition and said it was most likely you would pass that night, and we were welcome to stay. They left us alone. I was in shock. Even more so when, even after previos sedation for trying to escape, you tried to climb out of bed again. You grabbed my arm and said, 'Please, get me out of here.' That broke my heart, especially as I didn't recognise the man that said it- your eyes looked wild with pain and confusion. I buzzed the nursing staff who had to sedate you close to a coma. I was informed that this reaction was normal for this condition as the pain often drove people mad. It still didn't make it any easier. You were an angry, broken man, but you were my father. And you were dying right in front of my eyes. I had to pray.

I also owed you something. I kissed your cheek and said I love you Dad. That was the first time I had said that to you. And I meant it with all my heart.