Losing Dad: Introduction

...................... The Premonition.................

I had gone to bed late that night. The children safely tucked up in their beds, each with their beloved companions clutched close to their hearts, their current favourite bed-time story told. I placed a kiss upon each soft brow, and listened as their breathing deepened, and slowly crept out of the rooms, quietly closing the doors behind me.
Back downstairs I washed and dried the supper dishes, tidied the few scattered toys into the toy chest. I cast a last glance around before turning off the light and climbing the stairs.

Exhausted, I eased myself into my bed and it wasn't long before I fell into a deep sleep.

I saw a figure before me., and as I approached , I realised that it was my father. Suddenly he clutched his chest and crumpled to the ground. My breath caught in my throat, and I rushed to kneel beside him. As I cradled him in my arms he stopped breathing. I became distraught, calling him over and over to no avail. I began to sob uncontrollably, rocking him as I did so, his lifeless eyes staring back. I felt such a huge loss as never before..as though my heart was twisted and plucked out from my chest.

I woke with a start, I could hardly breathe, my nose felt stuffy. I must have been crying as my pillow was wet. I looked around, it was just a dream...what a relief. But something had changed, filling me with unease.

Several days went by, and while I didn't dwell on my dream - I somehow couldn't shake that strange feeling. I told my brother about it, but he laughed... Dad was rarely sick. He had barely had a handful of days off work during the whole of our lives. We ate healthily, we all exercised, going on 12 kilometre walks or cycling every weekend. He did suffer from migraines, but that was it. The only time he had been in hospital was for an overnight stay a couple of years earlier to have haemorrhoids cauterised. So I persuaded myself to dismiss the dream for what it was...just a dream. Two weeks passed, and all was forgotten.

One morning the phone rang...Dad's haemorrhoid problem had returned, and he and Mum had just come back from seeing a Consultant. Dad had been diagnosed with bowel cancer. Apparently, because he had left it so late (he had just thought the rectal bleeding was haemorrhoids and didn't think to go and see the doctor. To him, it was a trivial condition, and he didn't want to go through cauterisation again)it was already at the second stage. He was to have a Colostomy, but it would only give him a few months to a year at most.

My dream had been a premonition! No wonder I couldn't shake that feeling of dread.

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This is the introduction to the story of the last months of my father's life after the diagnosis of bowel cancer, and how we coped.