Two years ago today I sat in a doctor’s office with my father, his wife and my brother. I sat there listening to a doctor tell my father that he had no time left, that the cancer was winning and to make arrangements for palliative care.
I had no idea. I had no idea that he was sick. I knew he had had surgery in January but he and his wife still travelled overseas in February. They were even making plans to go away in July. He was not sick. He was fine.
I had been in Mersin in April when I received an email from my brother telling me to come home, telling me that our Dad was ill. No one told me. Dad didn’t tell me. His wife didn’t tell me. I then got an email from my boss telling me to come home. I was scared. I tried to telephone my Dad and my brother but I could not get onto any of them as there had been a big storm in Mersin and it had knocked out all telephone and internet. I finally got onto my Dad and he said he was fine. His voice was cheerful, he was telling jokes. My Dad always told jokes, legendary jokes. He said that my brother was being overly concerned.
It took days but I finally got onto my brother who told me to come home – now.
My next problem was getting a flight. This is not always easy. We had flights arranged for the next week. I tried to change it. It was difficult.
I finally got home. I spoke to my brother. I still remember it. I arrived home at 11 pm and I rang my brother first thing the next morning.
“Jane, there is nothing they can do.” I was at the shopping centre buying milk and bread for breakfast. I collapsed on the floor and wept. People walked around me, embarrassed by my outburst. I did not care.
Two years ago today I sat in a doctor’s office with my dad, his wife and my brother. Two years ago today I was told that my first love, my dad, was being taken from me forever. Little did I know that it would be a mere 3 weeks before he left me.
Two years ago.