P. D. Clifton

[Continued from previous post].

I think back to when my father was diagnosed with cancer of the lymph and lungs – when I was in my twenties.

It just didn’t cross my mind that he might die. It didn’t seem to be a possibility.

I continued thinking he’d be OK even when his cancer didn’t get any better… probably not helped by my father cheerfully continuing to smoke twenty cigarettes a day, at the entrance of the hospital where he was being treated.

I was still in a state of denial that he might die, when the doctor suggested it might be a good idea for me and my Mum to stay in the hospital one night, in case there were ‘any developments’ with Dad.

And, somehow, I continued to be in a state of denial when the nurse woke me in the middle of the night and told me to come quickly. I remember thinking what clothes shall I put on? I don’t want to look untidy! When I should have been thinking, move your bleedin’ arse and get in there! 

I think it finally sunk in when I saw my father lying motionless on the hospital bed. The nurse told me to put my head to his chest and listen – to catch his last breath. But by this time I was no longer in a state of denial. There clearly was no last breath. My father had already died. And I had missed it.

I’ve told myself it didn’t matter, though, that I wasn’t really there for my father’s very last moments. I was there for his last few days. Chatting to him and reading him newspaper articles. Pretending I was nice and not a moody, self-obsessed twentysomething. At least we had that.

But… returning to the present day… I can’t help but ask myself now… have I been in a state of denial about Lizzie too? Is there really a chance she might not get through this?

I suppose there is. But, in the face of that, maybe Lizzie’s response is the best option. The only option. Don’t dwell on it. Keep busy. Keep living.

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