The Inevitable
Posted: Tue Oct 12, 2010 8:50 pm
I have not been about the boards so much recently, but if you would please indulge me a little...
I found out a little over 2 months ago that my father had been diagnosed with leukaemia. Not really knowing the situation I thought it best to take a month off work, fly back to Australia with my family, and spend as much time with him as possible, also giving him a chance to play with and get to know his grandson Liam. I saw dad for the first time in more than 4 years in October last year, and age had certainly taken it's toll. This time the illness was all too apparent. Still, he was quite sprightly for the first couple of weeks. Complications started to set in, however, and he spent much of the following weeks in hospital.
As our time there drew to a close I could see that I may need to make another trip to see him in the not too distant future. On the 30th of last month I got a call from my younger brother saying that dad didn't look so good, and it seemed he had had a stroke. Ticket booked I flew out for Melbourne again the next day, this time alone. I arrived at the airport early and my brother took me straight to the hospital. It was all he could do to just lay there and breathe, and seeing him like that took me back 10 years to when my mother lost her struggle with cancer in that very same ward. I talked to him for a while, let him know about my wife and boy, and told him he was missed and loved. After a while I asked if I could be left alone with him for a time so I could talk privately, and when alone, I was able to tell him how proud I was of him, how much he meant to me, and that his spirit and memory will continue on through me and my boy. He sighed deeply when I mentioned Liam's name, the first sign of any communication from him since I arrived that day. He was a keen sailor all his life, so I told him about the beautiful weather that day, how the sky and sea looked, and the lush green hills rolling beyond the bay. Again he sighed. And with that, I kissed him on the head, gave him a big gentle hug, and his breathing slowly became shallower and shallower, his pulse dimmer and dimmer, until it slowly faded away, and he was gone.
God rest your soul, John Anthony Pingree. We all have our foibles, but I am very proud of you, proud to be your son, and love you very much.
You will be greatly missed.
I found out a little over 2 months ago that my father had been diagnosed with leukaemia. Not really knowing the situation I thought it best to take a month off work, fly back to Australia with my family, and spend as much time with him as possible, also giving him a chance to play with and get to know his grandson Liam. I saw dad for the first time in more than 4 years in October last year, and age had certainly taken it's toll. This time the illness was all too apparent. Still, he was quite sprightly for the first couple of weeks. Complications started to set in, however, and he spent much of the following weeks in hospital.
As our time there drew to a close I could see that I may need to make another trip to see him in the not too distant future. On the 30th of last month I got a call from my younger brother saying that dad didn't look so good, and it seemed he had had a stroke. Ticket booked I flew out for Melbourne again the next day, this time alone. I arrived at the airport early and my brother took me straight to the hospital. It was all he could do to just lay there and breathe, and seeing him like that took me back 10 years to when my mother lost her struggle with cancer in that very same ward. I talked to him for a while, let him know about my wife and boy, and told him he was missed and loved. After a while I asked if I could be left alone with him for a time so I could talk privately, and when alone, I was able to tell him how proud I was of him, how much he meant to me, and that his spirit and memory will continue on through me and my boy. He sighed deeply when I mentioned Liam's name, the first sign of any communication from him since I arrived that day. He was a keen sailor all his life, so I told him about the beautiful weather that day, how the sky and sea looked, and the lush green hills rolling beyond the bay. Again he sighed. And with that, I kissed him on the head, gave him a big gentle hug, and his breathing slowly became shallower and shallower, his pulse dimmer and dimmer, until it slowly faded away, and he was gone.
God rest your soul, John Anthony Pingree. We all have our foibles, but I am very proud of you, proud to be your son, and love you very much.
You will be greatly missed.