I woke up at 3 am today with the strongest feeling that I should share my story.
This is incredibly hard for me not only because it brings back bad memories but most of the people close to me don't know about this and now I'm sharing it on the internet to the world. To those who are sensitive I suggest keeping a box of tissues close at hand.
Growing up my dad was my hero and I was his blue eyed girl (literally). I knew I was his favorite because by the time my older siblings became teenagers my dad didn't know what to do with them and ultimately stopped spending so much time with them. (Could be because he always had a little one around who needed more attention). This never happened to me. He would sneak me out with him to go to the movies or to go get an ice cream, these were our little father daughter dates.
When I was in Primary school however he was diagnosed with cancer. I must have been really young because I wasn't sure what cancer was or how serious it was to have it. He got treatment and through removing his bladder he was cancer free. This hit him hard and he became depressed but being the strong person he was he never let the way he felt get in the way of his responsibilities.
In 2008 while on holiday, after Christmas he became really ill. He refused to go to a hospital or to see a doctor before the holiday was over. (I think he knew it would be his last one with us.) The day before we were meant to go home, he became worse and my mom rushed him to the hospital. He was admitted immediately. While there he was treated for Thrombosis a medical condition that causes blood to clot in your legs that results severe swelling. He was released but still didn't get better. Yet again my mother took him to a doctor. Seeing the state he was in she immediately had him taken up in a different hospital. It was there that the doctors discovered that the cancer had come back. This time the cancer had spread to his liver.
I was older now and I never prayed so hard for a miracle in my life. The miracle never came. I was in denial and like my dad I was not going to accept that he was going to die. I remember the day my mom broke the news to us. I was getting ready for school and just before we left my mom called my brother and I together and told us that my father had a week left to live. She then asked if we wanted to stay home, to which I replied "no"and still in denial went to school to go and write a test. Just before the test was handed out the realization hit me like a ton of bricks and I broke down.
The school must have been informed of our situation because without any question they let me go home. My dad came home that night. To me he looked fine. Just like the plump man with the dry humor, awkward smile and receding hair line he was when he left. The denial that he was okay made me look at him differently, as a picture taken a few days after he came home was testament that he was not okay. He was with us for 2 more weeks.
The day of his death my friends had invited me to a sleepover. Wanting to go I asked my mom for permission and she agreed that I could go if my dad was feeling okay. Excited I went to ask him to which he responded he was feeling better today. I don't recall whether I told him I loved him or even said goodbye. After school I went to my friend's house...
A few weeks earlier my phone stated giving me trouble, I could not hear people when they called me.
After abut 2 hours of having fun I got a call from my grandmother, I picked up the phone and told her that my phone was broken so I couldn't hear her and put the phone down. It was maybe 15 min later that my sister showed up at my friend's house and asked me to get my stuff. My heart sank, I could see that she had been crying. I went to my friend's room to get my bags at which point my sister told them what had just happened. Leaving her house I remember everyone being silent and giving me hugs that were tighter and longer than usual. This made me realize what was going on but until I heard it myself I was not going to believe it.
A block away from home my sister finally got the courage to tell me that my father had died. It felt like my heart fell on the floor, I felt it shatter and along with this was a feeling of regret. I was the only one who wasn't there when he died and that killed me.
There were so many people in the house when I walked in. All giving me their condolences but I didn't stop to speak to any of them. I walked straight to my parent's room where he still laid. Not being able to speak I took his had and silently in my head said goodbye, left the room and headed straight for mine, where my younger brother Christiaan was waiting for me. I locked the door, the two of us got on the bed and just cried in silence until I fell asleep.
A few days later my aunt asked if I could stay with them while my mom took care of the funeral arrangements. Because my cousin and I are close, I agreed to go. The day of the funeral it was raining. All of the children were asked to write elegies but when it was my turn to read it, I couldn't and my older sister did it for me. I have never cried so much in my life.
My father's death started the dark road (depression avenue) I was going to walk for the next seven years...
Hey guys if you got this far thank you for reading. I will continue the rest of the story with my next article discussing the road of depression I walked and had to overcome . There is a light at the end of this story I promise.
