In Loving Memory - 2 Years On

To travel around the world visiting as many historical landmarks/sites as possible.

This TB has been travelling around with me for a while now, as I wanted to attach something to it before I properly release it into the wild, but I couldn't decide what.  In a case of bad timing, I have to go to Spain with work this week, which clashes with the 2nd anniversary of my Dad's death.  So I won't be able to spend the day with my Mum and the rest of my family like we did last year, and like we did on the day he died.  But Dad absolutely loved Spain, even taking Spanish lessons for a few years before he got ill, so if I had to be anywhere else in the world other than with my family on the 10th of March, I feel Spain is the place.  So I've attached an old pitch-mark repair tool taken from Dad's golf bag, and I've decided to release this TB into the wild in Spain, in loving memory of my Dad on the 2nd anniversary of the day he lost his battle with lung cancer.

My Dad's Fight

In March 2014, my Dad's new found love of cycling was interrupted when he developed breathing difficulties that made it difficult to cope with going up hills.  Initially, we were all convinced that he had developed a chest infection:  nothing that a dose of antibiotics wouldn't clear up, I convinced myself.

In the April, my Dad was diagnosed with lung cancer just a few days before his 70th birthday.  Right from the start, the prognosis was bleak with his consultant telling my Mum that, while his condition was treatable, her experience suggested that he would be lucky to make it past the following summer (2014).  He bravely began a course of chemotherapy, but this was stopped because the side-effects of the treatment decreased his quality of life.  Following this, he rallied and I think all my family had renewed hope that he might actually beat it.  He began cycling again and going out for long walks.  He actually seemed to be in his best shape in 40 years.

Towards the end of 2013, several minor falls on his bike due to lost balance knocked his confidence on the bike.  Eventually he took a more serious fall from his bike, bruising his ribs and hitting his head (even though he was wearing a helmet).  He started becoming increasingly confused, and we could tell he wasn't quite as sharp as he used to be.  Concerned that he might have a concussion, he went in to the hospital for a scan.  The scan showed that the cancer had spread to his brain.

This time, he began a course of steroids and radiotherapy to try to reduce the swelling on his brain that was causing the confusion.  It helped a bit, but from this point, we were told that his treatment would be palliative and that they could only treat some of his symptoms to make him more comfortable.

In January 2014, my Dad was transferred into the care of a Marie Curie nurse who visited him weekly at home to ensure that he and my Mum were coping OK.  At the end of February Dad's nurse suggested that he go into the Hospice Centre for a few days as his condition was beyond that which she could effectively treat while he was at home.  At this point we thought he would get out after a couple of days and we began planning a big family dinner for March 10th, by which point we were sure he would be home.

After about a week of observation, my Mum was told on the 5th of March that Dad's prognosis was now a matter of weeks rather than months.  It became clear that things were a little more serious and that he wouldn't be out by the 10th.

I visited him on Friday 7th with my Mum and my younger sister.  Again with Mum, younger sister and my son on the Saturday, then with Mum, younger sister, my son and my wife on the Sunday.  My son called him Granddad for the first time during this visit

On the morning of Monday 10th, one of the hospice nurses went into Dad's room, gave him his pain medication, told him that someone would be round to see what he wanted for breakfast shortly and left.  Dad paid a visit to the toilet.  On his return he climbed into the other (empty) bed in his room.  We don't know whether this was due to tiredness or confusion as he had been in that bed up until the Saturday.  He pulled the covers up over himself and peacefully slipped away.

We still got together for our family dinner on the night of the 10th, in Dad's honour, and decided to make this a tradition every year, which is why I'm really gutted to be missing this year.  But I'm glad I can still do something special in his honour in a country he loved so much.