My Dad

Well, where to start...at the end I guess : ) Dad passed away on the 27th of
March 2019 from a ranging brain tumour, well to be more precise, from mets of
stage 4 B-cell lymphoma. He fought it so bravely and 'head on' - it was a true
emotional rollercoaster ride from being diagnosed July 2018 with hopes flying
high to being crushed to then lifted again but becoming smaller and smaller in
their amplitude as time went on. By January it started to look pretty grim.
Despite living in Sydney, Australia and him being in Germany, I managed to be
by his side every couple of months during his journey.



The most significant visits were in September 2019 when he was hospitalized -
he had lost memory and was highly confused but in a happy child like manner -
even though he didn't recall this time (I asked him when he regained his memory
around December 2019) it was the most intensive time I experienced with him.
It was just so sweet when I entered his hospital room every morning and he
greeted me in full surprise and joy to see me like it was the first time we had
seen each other in years. We laughed about his confused 'nonsense' he spoke
about and enjoyed eating ice cream like it was the best thing on earth. I brought
him classical music to listen to and he placed his headphones on and sunk into
the sounds, moving his frail body sitting on the edge of the bed, breaking
periodically into tears from being moved by the beauty of the music. There was
such an innocence surrounding him, such a sweet and sincere trust in life and
that everything would just be fine.


Well, it wasn't. He failed treatment twice and by January it was only palliative
whole brain radiation left - still he thought it would give him years. I had to
gently crush his hopes as the pain of lying was greater. The scientist in me was
always present and it was a fine juggle act till the end. I ended up quitting my job
as a specialist veterinary surgeon at Sydney University to be with him and care
for him with my brother in his home during his last six weeks with us. Our mum
came for part of it and his wife was there. She was so grateful that we took his
care over as she couldn't deal with the situation well.
I did things I never thought I would be able to do...I washed him, changed his
nappy, fed him, massaged his hands, manicured and shaved him. I sang to him
every night and held his hand.

I argued with the palliative care doctors about this medical protocol and we
changed it which resulted in a sort of awakening from an absolute overdosed
vegetable state to being interactive and even recognising us, laughing and
enjoying the attention right up to about one week before he passed. The last
week was tough...he was too weak to drink or eat and we knew that this was the
start of the end.

Giving him the prescribed injections of morphine to ease any possible discomfort
during the last 2 days felt indescribable...I felt guilty that I am contributing to a
faster end and on the other had it was comforting to see how his face relaxed and
he appeared at peace. I watched his breathing becoming more laboured and
short and informed his wife to come and say good bye...I left for a short while
and when I returned to the side of his bed he had just taken his last breath...
We washed his body and kept him in the house for 48 hours to allow his soul to
leave his body and move on...something that was/is common practice in
Germany. I remember the church bells rang the next morning and could be heard
across the entire village...

I felt numb and entered a state I am very familiar with...highly functional but
closed off, deeply sad and devastated that I couldn't save him. I always was the
saviour in our family. It felt like an awful failure. The beauty though on the other
hand I experienced of our fragmented family coming together, growing closer to
my brother and the appreciation that my husband and little son came with me
became more obvious as time went on. And the fact that we were able to be with
him, that he did not die alone gave us unmeasurable comfort. We organised the
funeral and everything around it and I managed to read a beautiful poem
following a heart felt speech - in this moment my heart opened up and the tears
could flow...at least for a while.

Since then, almost 2 years on, the grief still overcomes me like an avalanche , no
pre-warning - a smell, a sound, a song or any seemingly small thing can by the
catalyst and the pain is intense. I do keep a diary in which I write down
important life events...I haven't yet managed to write our story down...until
now...here...sharing it with all of you. It feels raw. But beautiful. I miss him so
much and I feel so much love. I wish I could hug him again - best hugs hands
down! He always hugged us when greeting us and when saying good bye. I have
to imagine his last Good bye hug.

Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there, I do not sleep,
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamonds glints on the snow.
I am the sunlight on the ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning’s hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave an cry;
I am not there. I did not die.
(Mary Elizabeth Frye)

Mein Lieber Papa, Du bist für immer in meinem Herzen,
In Liebe,
Deine Nina