Losing a parent!

This is a very personal blog, about a huge loss on my part.

One month and 14 days ago, my father passed away due to a long and tough battle with COPD. For the people who don't know what COPD is, it is Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disease, otherwise known as smoking lungs.

I have not always been there for my father. When he was diagnosed, I remember thinking "We'll cure this! Easy! Give it a few weeks, and he will be back to normal"

But he wasn't cured.

A few weeks into his illness, I got the idea of going overseas to work. I got a job in Scotland, and I left when my dad's disease was worsening. During my time in Scotland, my father was admitted to hospital several times. His doctor overlooked the COPD symptoms, and misdiagnosed him. Even when he was having a pneumonia, the doctor mistook it for something else.

The disease took a huge toll on my father and my family. He couldn't go anywhere without gasping for breath. I really didn't like the way his health deteriorated.

During the last three months of his life, he only came outside twice. He was never able to attend family gatherings, unless it was in his apartment. He couldn't go on holidays with us, he was dependent on a mobility scooter and a wheel chair. It really bummed me out, because I would have loved to take him with me to Scotland. To London. To Prague. Sadly, he was never up for that, because he didn't dare to go. I understood him perfectly.

A few days before he died, he was admitted to the hospital with a ruptured appendix. They performed surgery on him, and the first few hours after it were good. He was responding well to the treatment, and he was expected to make a full recovery. Six days later, my sister called me, and said it was the end. That he was close to death. So I packed up some things, and waited for my sister to come and pick me up. We then picked up my brother, and then we went to the hospital.

When we got there, the head surgeon had prepared a room for us, where we could talk to the head doctor. He told us, that sometime during the night, my father stopped responding to the treatment he was given. They would continue to treat him, but if he wasn't responding to the treatment after two hours, they would shut the machines down, and let his body take its natural course.

We agreed that they should stop the treatment immediately, so that his body would decide if he should live or die. We sat down and began to tell stories about my fathers life, because the doctors told us, that the hearing is the last sense that leaves the body, so he could possibly still hear us. There were lots of laughs and lots of tears. We told tales from his youth, from when he took my brother, me and a friend to the airport to see the Concorde land. We told him jokes, made sure he was included in every conversation, and held his hands while we told the stories.

Four and a half hours after I arrived at the hospital, my father died, surrounded by the immediate family. The hospital staff was extremely kind to us, and they made sure we had everything we needed.

Two hours later, we said our final goodbye, while we played a song by an artist that he loved.

It is strange not having my father around anymore. I miss his sense of humor, his sarcastic outlook on things and I miss his generosity. I will forever miss his laugh!

He taught me one thing: No matter how tough things look, they will always be better in the end. I know that my father doesn't have any more pains. That he is in a much better place now.

I will be okay. I will just take a bit of time.