Time seems to go so quickly, yet so slowly. Dad is deteriorating before our eyes, and it seems that the moments of lucidity are few and far between now. Though, when I was sitting with him this morning and holding his hand, he looked quite with it, so I told him what a lovely old bastard he was, and that raised a smile. We’re at the point where he can’t suck through a straw any longer, so we’re trying to get him to take water from a medicine syringe … but he’s still not having enough, so he’s dehydrated and now in renal failure, which I suppose means that the end is now not far away. But we’re all here for him, my brothers and sisters and Mum, so at least when the end does come he will go feeling loved and cherished.
It’s really odd to see how this man, who less than two weeks ago was still my lovely Daddy, has now changed beyond all recognition. That bed contains a living skeleton, instead of the big strong man of not that long ago. The skin on his hands is paper-thin, his face is gaunt and his eyes sunken and dull. I feel so disloyal for thinking that I hope the end is near, but I just can’t bear to see him suffer like this, and I want him to be at peace. Life really sucks sometimes, doesn’t it?