It seems pretty certain now that Dad is not going to get better.
He is so weakened that any infection will signal the end according to the medics as he will not have the strength to fight it.
I veer between being strong and crying. Amazingly strong most of the time as if someone up on high (Mum) has just made me get mature after all these years. Or perhaps it is all the folks out there who I know are thinking of us in this difficult time and some of whom send hugs and strength. Angels masquerading as human beings again.
Last night, we sat the children down and told them what we think we are facing.
My 11 year old was incredibly strong, “I guess we will handle it together”.
My 8 year old was if anything keen to get back to her game.
My 6 year old starting clowning around.
Just like when Mum was so close to death, my husband cries and then will step into mega-support mode when the time comes.
My brother spoke to me. I think it has only just dawned on him but in my heart, I have always felt Dad would not come back from this one. It seems to be disloyal to say that but I just had that feeling.
I always knew the fact that I moved Dad in with us 2 years ago after Mum died would provide comfort at some point. We have had the most idyllic time here.
You know that life and death happens. I worked out when mum died that memory-making is all that makes any sense in the end.
I am a lucky girl because I have countless memories of Dad and they aren’t going anywhere.
He is the best man in the world and we will be OK, heartbroken but OK.
Not everyone gets a good Dad. I am one of the ones that did.