Fading Away

3 April 2011

Dear Dad,

Wow I'm just gonna come out and say it - You looked SHOCKING when I saw you yesterday.

Even though it's only ten days since we dropped off the dog you've dropped SO much weight and you look SO tired and your eyes are SO yellow.

What a bastard this awful disease is.

And you had bad news at your last chemo session too - the bloody tumor in your liver is getting bigger and bigger instead of shrinking as promised, so you're off for another scan one day soon. It was frightening to see you so out of breath because your liver's swollen to the extent where you can't get a lungful. It's horrifying Dad. It's scaring the living shit out of me. I just can't see how we can hope for another two years when you  already look as sick as you do.

It's not fair.

It's just not fair.

And while all I really want to do it sit and cry and feel sorry for myself we have the really awful things to get out of the way first. Things like handing over your signing rights. Getting someone in as power of attorney. Looking through the books, talking to the bank manager, sorting out the partnership with Andy. All these awful morose tasks that feel so wrong to be doing to someone who's still alive and still very much mentally capable. But things that have to be done.

Jenny's being a superstar organising this stuff Dad, she's taking the brunt of the hit so the rest of us don't have to think about it. And she's told me she feels like a sneaky bank handed back stabber, but I'm so glad that someones  doing it, and I'm glad that it's her, one of us, rather than some sneaky lawyer or someone out to help themselves.

So after talking behind your back with Jenny for almost an hour about how the pie's going to be distributed after you go, I helped you put the lawnmower back together yesterday Dad. And we declared once it was done that she'll be fine for a couple of years yet. A couple of years where I guess either mum or us girls are going to have to learn how to drive it.  And yep - I felt sick too, having been mentally preparing myself for what's going to happen when you go, then helping you reassemble the mower for more years of happy mowing. A fucking lawnmower has a greater life expectancy than my Dad.

But we won't think like that, will we? We'll just enjoy having had an afternoon in the sun working together side by side like we used to.

I'm really going to miss things like that Dad,

I Love You
Cath xoxox