It's been a while since
I blogged. The plan is to whack a number out over the next few days
and continue from there.
Number one of this new
batch of blogs is about my Dad. I've explained a lot about him and
out relationship and have already mentioned what happened to him in
2008.
He suffered a massive
brain injury during an emergency appendix operation. He had an
allergic reaction to the anaesthetic. His appendix had already
ruptured and the doctors had a choice of two outcomes. They could
either bring him round and have the poisons from the appendix kill
him outright, or they could leave him clinically dead on the
operating table and finish the operation.
The doctors made the
correct choice by them. They decided to continue. I have never held them accoutable for what happened.
It was another 15
minutes before he could be revived and his brain suffered the
inevitable damage. Dad's brain was no more. There was enough left to
keep him alive, but nothing more.
For 4 years, he lived,
I say lived, it was no life to lead, he stayed alive for those 4
years. Things started to turn quite quickly in December 2012.
I received a phone call
from an unknown number on the Saturday afternoon. It was my
biological brother. He told me Dad was seriously ill and I better
make plans to get down there at the earliest possible opportunity, or
even sooner than that.
I'd spent my 2 weeks
dole money already by then, so not only did I have to find somewhere
to stay, I needed to come up with the funds for the train fare to
Northampton.
My friend Debz agreed
to put me up for aslong as I needed. The funds were not so easy to
come by though. My brother offered to pay, but he had no way of
getting the money to me that day and I wasn't willing to wait until
Monday for it. There was frantic phone call after frantic phone call.
Nobody had the funds, or had quick access to them.
I actually left home to
go for the train before I had any money to pay for a ticket. I was
still making phone calls all the way to the station. I tried using my
debit card to buy a ticket, but it wouldn't let me. Eventually
however, I received a phone call from the mother, who agreed to loan
me the money until I my brother could pay her back. Needless to say,
he never did and it took me 3 months to refund the £80 she gave me.
I'd had to get the bus
from town to Ikea where she worked and in total, I was out of the
house for three hours before I even stepped foot on a train.
Once the panic over the
money was over, I was able to calm myself down. My meds killed any
anxiety I had and the train journey was actually fairly relaxed.
I'd made that journey a
thousand times, many of which in the company of Dad. I was able to
reminisce about times with him through the 3 hour journey. The
layover in Birmingham New Street, Rugby station, in which Dad and me
had spent hundreds of hours in waiting for connections.
It was gone 9pm when I
finally arrived in Northampton. I'd decided it was too late to visit
Dad, so off I went back to Debz' flat with a beer or 6.
We were up at the crack
of sparrows. As repayment for letting me stay, I agreed to help Debz
with a car boot at stupid AM on the Sunday morning. Despite leaving
at around 6am, we didn't actually find a car boot and get set up
until about 10am and by noon, we had decided to pack up and go home.
Well, she went home, I
went to the care home to see Dad. I didn't know the full story at
that point, so I steeled myself for the worse. Good job I did.
When I walked into his
room, it took me 3 attempts to barely recognise the man lying in the
bed. See, Dad was short and wide when he was well. This person in the
bed looked like a 90 year old anorexic man who had been dead for a
day or so. He didn't look too comfortable either. He had an infection
and his organs had started to fail.
My step-mothers mother
took me to a side room after a while. I hadn't spoken to or seen any
of them for 4 years, she wanted to know how life had treated me. I
told her the basics, the mental stuff, the knee injury, the ups and
downs and why I had made no effort to contact any of them.
She eventually asked me
if there was any chance of a reconciliation with my brother. That was
fairly easy to answer. Not a hope in hell. He'd questioned my love
and respect for my father and accused me of things that only he was
guilty of. Only going to Dad when he wanted something, for example.
I was in the home a few
hours, catching up on Dad's condition. Eventually everything was
answered and I felt fairly useless sat there. So I went back to the
flat. It'd been a long, tough day and I knew it wouldn't be getting
any easier.
When I got back, I was
able to finally count how much money was in the massive wad of cash I
had been given by Annabelle (stepmother's mother). There was £300
there. Apparently it was to make up for missed birthday and Xmas
presents in the four years since I'd seen her.
I went clothes shopping
on the Monday morning, then made my way over to the home again. There
was a paramedic car and an ambulance in the car park. It didn't take
a genius to figure out who they were for.
The care in the 'care'
home had apparently been very lacking for a while and the staff had
basically decided Dad was on his way out and thus didn't treat him.
The ambulance was called and Dad was taken to hospital.
My family made use of
my skills as a walking sat nav as I got them from the home to the
hospital and even into the right car park. I got those skills from
Dad and I'm proud of them. We even arrived before the ambulance, but
had to wait a fair while to see him. He'd been taking to a ward by
then. Information wasn't fast in coming from the family for a few
days and eventually, after a move to a second ward later in the week,
I was taken aside by the doctor in charge of the shift. He wanted to
know about Dad. Things that weren't in his notes.
I filled the doctor in
with as much detail as I could, repeatedly suggesting he should speak
to Amanda. She knew everything about everything. I knew very little,
had been told very little.
The doctor did, however
actually tell me the full story about what was going on. His words
were harsh, but very honest. Dad was in the final stages of life. It
was unlikely to impossible that he'd ever see daylight again.
Now let me let you in
to a little secret here. In my opinion, Dad died in 2008. His body
kept going for 4 years, but his brain, and he died 4 years
previously. I'd already grieved and mourned over the loss of my
father. Some people may call that callous. I call it human.
My mental means I can't
cry. I've cried three times since 2008 and two of those were because
Warrington won the Challenge Cup. A deep conversation with a friend,
who has since abandoned me, coupled with around 40 cans of lager
between us brought it all out. That's it though, I don't have the
ability to cry sad tears any more. Most would count that as a
blessing. I hate it.
On the Thursday night,
it was widely believed that Dad wouldn't make it through the night.
There was 4 of us who battled it out the entire night at Dad's
bedside. Amanda, her Mum, her sister and myself. Everyone else
buggered off to get some kip. Probably best really, as tiredness
would have resulted in violence had some of those stayed.
My brother was as
annoying as usual. Every third thing out of his mouth was about his
bike accident. You had an accident, we get it, we don't care, shut up
about it.
My Dad's brother and
sister had gone behind Amanda's back to try and get the doctors to
pull the plug. Amanda knew Dad, knew when he was in pain and she
wanted Dad to go as naturally as possible. His life was taken away in
a most unnatural way. He was owed at least a bit of dignity in his
last hours.
That night was
horrible. I couldn't sleep, I couldn't sit still. For years I had
suffered from insomnia, meaning days without sleep was possible. The
added stress and fear made the time unbearable though. Everything in
the hospital was shut, so there was nothing to keep my mind busy.
Eventually the morning
came. Dad was still with us and relief came from a supply run from
Debz. Bless her, she went out of her way to make sure I was ok.
Incredible when you think her Mum has a terminal illness, which did
nothing for Debz' own depression. Still, there she was before work,
with food, drink and cigarettes.
Everyone else decided
that Dad wasn't going to go just yet. We all needed some rest and we
all went and got it. We had been in the hospital for about 30 hours
straight by time I left. I went back to the flat, fell asleep on the
sofa and stayed asleep until 9pm. I woke up to find the TV on and
subtitles on the screen. Poor Debz couldn't hear it because of my
snoring. She had told me to sleep in the bed when I got back. The
sofa was closer to the door though.
We'd already agreed to
get very, very drunk on the Saturday. We both needed it and boy did
we make the most of it. We even ended up going into town about 1am. I
don't remember much about it. I certainly don't remember getting
home.
I'd probably been up
about an hour and I was very, very hungover when I got a phone call.
Debz had gone out for coffee, so I was alone in the flat. The phone
call was from Amanda. I knew what she was about to say before I even
answered the phone.
Dad had gone. He was
born in Leeds on the 27th of August 1955 and he died on
the 16th of December 2012 at just 57 years old.
I rang Debz and she met
me on the road as I walked to the hospital. I walked in silence,
about 5 feet ahead of her and her friend. I left her in the hospital
café and went up to my Dad's room. He didn't look much different to
the way he did when I had first seen him a week earlier. His chest
wasn't rising and falling though.
He hadn't been alone.
Just minutes before he went, Annabelle had left the room to get a
brew and Amanda was alone with him. That's when he finally died. I
felt a bit shit for not being there when it happened. To be honest
though, that would probably have fucked me right up. I'd never seen a
dead human body before.
The rest of the family
left me alone with him for a few minutes, so I could say my own final
goodbye. I kissed his forehead, then quite soon afterwards, I tipped
the fuck out of the door.
Debz and me had made a
pact. When Dad went, we'd smoke a cigar in his honour and the same
will happen when her Mum goes. After the cigar had been smoked,
everyone said their goodbyes and we left the grounds of the hospital.
That evening was
horrible. Even my medication couldn't mask the hurt. Only one thing
would get me out of that funk. That one thing arrived the following
day. I got to see Mum.
My mood improved
dramatically and I was lifted out of the depression. I can never
thank her enough for that.
I'd already had a
tattoo with Dad's initials on my arm. It needed touching up and added
to though. This was accomplished on the Wednesday morning. His date
of birth and date of death were added as a lasting tribute to him.
Later that day, we were at the funeral directors to arrange his
funeral.
My input was sought. It
wasn't just a case of Amanda doing everything, we all had a say. I
loved Amanda's choice of music for the service; William Orbit's remix
of Barber's Adagio For Strings. A trance track at a funeral. Dad
would have loved that. Amanda loved my idea of having white roses
(Dad being a Yorkshireman), a sentiment which was agreed by the rest
of the Yorkshire side of the family.
The funeral itself was
not to be for another 3 weeks though. I took the opportunity to come
home, back to Warrington, and try and kick start my life. I had an
appointment to find out what damage had been done to my knee, as well
as exams to take in the first few days of January.
The funeral was on the
7th of January, so I travelled down on the 4th,
with a return coach ticket for the 8th. Lord forbid I
can't attend my job seekers signing on interview.
Sitting here now, I
can't remember anything that happened between the Friday and the
Monday morning. Monday, I remember though.
Debz had planned to be
my +1 for the funeral. Sadly, her Mum had a fall that morning and I
made my way over to Amanda's....and Dad's home on the bus.....dressed
up for a date in court. Smart jacket and everything.
We piled into the
limousine and off we went to the service. The drive was painfully
slow. I'd have much preferred the driver to put his foot down. The
atmosphere in the car was quiet, but calm. That was until we pulled
in to the crematorium. When the hearse came into view, Amanda, her
Mum and her sister burst into tears. I was as steely as a rod. I
don't say that to insinuate I was brave. I just don't feel an awful
lot when medicated. As we drove in, I could see the rest of the
family walking towards the service building. I'm not sure they'd seen
the hearse, they all seemed to be quite calm aswell.
I'd decided that I was
going to carry the coffin into the service. My brother and me were at
the front, with the funeral director staff bringing up the rear. Dad
may have lost half his body weight over those final 4 years, but that
coffin was bloody heavy.
As we walked in, the
tears started to flow from many of the congregation. I spotted my
Aunt crying first, then each face, at least the women all came into
view, one by one, all with tears in their eyes. Boxhead and me were
the last to sit down and the service got under way.
There was no mention of
religion, or God, or Jesus, or sins, or any of that. Dad wasn't a
religious man and a religious ceremony would have been rather
hypocritical.
I had been in contact
with the chief funeral director, with things he could mention in his
service. The two things he mentioned that I had suggested brought a
smile to my face. He noticed that and pointed it out to everyone.
Then again, as a rugby fan, I'm no secret to the paying of respects
after a death. I'm more of a minutes applause kind of person, rather
than a minutes silence. Celebrate life, don't mourn death.
I certainly had a
massive grin on my face when Adagio For Strings came on, as his
coffin was taken from view. At my funeral, I want the even harder
version of that tune played, Tiesto's remix. I want sub woofers in
the sound system too.......maybe even some glow sticks.
We all filed out of the
crem after the service had finished. While the rest of the immediate
family walked on, I stopped near the door to greet everyone and thank
them for coming. I shook the hands or hugged everyone, even those I
didn't know, had never met. Always the host me.
Back we all went to
Amanda's. Most left after an hour or so though. I'd only finished two
beers once the crowd had been whittled down to a dozen or so. I'd
even changed into my 2008 Warrington home shirt. That, along with a
Warrington watch were the last things my Dad ever bought me. They
were a present for my birthday. The shirt has his initials printed on
the back and the watch has his initials engraved on it. People wanted
to see the tattoo aswell. I was only to happy to oblige.
Later in the evening, I
finally met my nephew for the first time, along with his Mum, who I
had also never had the pleasure of meeting. After spending just a few
hours with the pair of them, I quickly decided I liked them more than
I liked me own brother. That's not difficult though, I like most
people more than I like my own brother.
Cherry, my nephew’s
mother even took me out for a spin in her new wheels, a Ford Focus
RS. I needed that. My brother had started making comments about my
weight and was as annoying and as stupid as ever. He'd brought his
new bint to the funeral with him. She bares a striking resemblance to
my Aunty Chris. Similar height, look very similar and both have a
matching Yorkshire accent. Quite freaky actually.
After polishing off
beer after beer and still being as sober as a horse, I decided to
leave myself. I was off to see Mum again the following morning before
getting the coach home.
2012 was supposed to be
my year. It turned out to be the worst of my life. Dad died, little
Sue died, Prince died and it was a testament to my strength, or
cowardice, that I hadn't attempted to join them all.
I've been in a deep
depression since the funeral. I don't think about it much, but it was
a cog in a chain reaction that just brought me down.
I have plenty more to
write about and I shall be releasing each blog one at a time, to give
you chance to read each one.
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