Blessings - My Dad.

Righty ho, I said I would blog so here I am blogging. Trouble is I am limited for time today as I have a fair few jobs to get done this morning as I want to go to the big city this afternoon for some shopping. I need to buy a present for my little Grandson's birthday.

I have to use public transport to go anywhere as we only have the one car and Simon uses that for work. The buses from my village go once an hour and it takes around an hour to get to the city. I have to change buses in the nearby town of Bourne and then I can get a bus to Peterborough which is the nearest big place with decent shops. It is a bit of a trek so I don’t do it very often! However going today I can come back with Simon in the car so that makes it better.

Anyway, where was I? See I am already waffling on. I can't just write a blog without some waffle. Yesterday I mentioned that despite recent sadness we are also very blessed. So I think I will restart my blogging habit by talking about some of my blessings.

I am going to start with my Dad. He was the most wonderful man and one year on I still miss him terribly. I think of him every single day and talk to him too.

He was born in the East End of London on the 13^th of December 1926. The 2^nd child and 2^nd son of Harry and Edith Sansum. He eventually had 4 more siblings, another brother and 3 sisters. They were a typical East End family of that time. They were very poor and eked out an existence. His Dad liked the drink a bit too much so although he worked, the family didn’t see too much of his earnings. His Mum was a very strong, sensible lady with good morals and I think it was her influence that made my Dad the man he was.

1951. Great Yarmouth

He was kind, patient, honest, hard working, and devoted to my Mum. Many of you will know how hard it was for our family once the Alzheimers took over my Mum. Dad never faltered in his love and care for her right until the end. Once Mum had gone we thought he wouldn't be long after her but in fact he enjoyed 2 more years.

They were good years. He once again became fully engaged with all of the family. He adored his great grandchildren and we had many family occasions where he had the best time. He also started to visit us every school holiday. He had never done that while Mum was still alive because he would never leave her. He really looked forward to coming to stay and in fact he always knew when the next holiday was due.

This was taken on his 87th birthday and is the last photo of him with his Great Grandchildren.

So we were both eagerly looking forward to the February half term break last year. I had various plans of things we were going to do together. Little did either of us know that it wasn't to be.

Dad suffered a stroke at the end of January. In the first few hours the news coming from my sister was that it might not be too bad. After all he had been out doing his shopping and had walked to his doctor himself because he didn't feel so good. However over the next few days we realised that actually it was the very worst kind of stroke. It had occurred at the back, right in the centre so had effected not just his ability to walk but also things such as his swallowing reflex.

He was in the Lister hospital in Stevenage and over the following weeks they tried hard to do some physiotherapy with him but he was very down. He also had an operation to insert a permanent feeding port as it seemed that he would never regain his swallow. After around a month they moved him to a rehabilitation unit in Old Welwyn. They seemed positive that they would get him back on his feet. To be honest, I always had doubts, I just couldn’t ever see him making it home. I did try to have hope though.

Sadly from the very first day there things went wrong. He contracted some kind of infection and was in a lot of pain and discomfort. They could not begin his rehabilitation as he couldn’t move from the bed. This went on for several weeks during which time they had him in isolation as they were not sure what the infection was. It was a miserable existence for him and he told me on several occasions that he didn’t want to be here, he wanted to be with Mum. That is very hard to hear but I did understand.

Finally after several weeks he got pneumonia and they decided that he needed to be transferred back to the hospital at Stevenage. They moved him on he Monday night. I went up to see him on the Tuesday. I was shocked. I knew then he was never going home. He had on an oxygen mask but he kept fighting to take it off. It was hard to hear and understand what he was saying with it on. He did remove it briefly to say he loved me. I will always remember that.

I had a long journey home and didn't get in until around 8.30pm. I rang my children to let them know that he really was very poorly. I knew it wasn’t going to be long. I didn’t however expect it to be a matter of hours. I got a phone call around half an hour after I got home from my sister to say that the hospital had phoned for them to go in as he was asking for them. At around midnight she phoned to say I should return.

Simon and I were straight in the car. Once we were there the doctor came and spoke to us. Dad had made up his own mind that it was time. He refused all further treatment and the doctor told him that without it he would die that day. She asked if that was what he wanted and he told her yes. She asked my sister and I if we agreed. We had to say yes. It wasn’t what I wanted at all. I wanted my Dad back. I didn’t want to lose him. However I did understand that he wasn’t going to get better and that he had simply had enough. It was time to go and be with Mum.

They switched of all the machines and removed everything from him. We were moved into a private room as by this time most of the family were there. He died about 20 minutes later. It was very peaceful and he knew we were all there. He even had his youngest great-grandson Jackson, sitting on the bed holding his hand. Jackson was just 1 year old. We asked Dad if he knew Jackson was holding his hand and he nodded yes! A few minutes later the light went out on my world.

I found it incredibly hard. I was inconsolable. Even now I cannot write this without the tears streaming down my face.

And now a whole year has passed without him. The last one of the “first anniversaries” has passed. It isn’t any easier. So many times there is stuff that I want to tell him. On several occasions I have actually picked up the phone and dialled the number before my brain has reminded me that he won't be answering.

I wonder what he would make of it all? I know what he would tell me. “Life goes on and you must pick yourself up and get on with it”. He once told me that my sister Julie had described me as pragmatic. He said “I don’t know what that actually means but I know you will be OK because you are e a coper. You deal with things”. He is right. I am dealing with it. One of my ways of doing that is to try and live by the mantra of always remember the good times and also to always count my blessing every single day.

My Dad was one of the biggest blessings of my life. I was so blessed to have such a wonderful man as my father. A man who showed me how to be the best that I can. A man who taught me that no matter what, family are the most important thing. He will always be a blessing.

I love you Dad.

PS. I hope I haven’t made anyone feel down with this blog. As I wrote it, I got quite upset. It's OK to be upset. You know, my sister is right, I am pragmatic. I am a coper. As far as I can see there is no other choice. Whatever life throws at us, all we can do is carry on. I have my tears and my sad times, but then in the words of my grandson Evan, I “give myself a talking to” and then I follow my road.

My friend Deb will understand the reference to following the road.

Count your blessings every single day and whatever happens follow your road.

Jilly