Today when I write this it has been 7 years since my dad died from cancer. He initially had prostate cancer but sadly it spread to his lymph nodes and, shortly after he completed radiotherapy treatment, he discovered cancer in his colon which then spread to his liver.

 

Dad remained quite contained about his diagnosis and stages of cancer and, as I had my own young family to wrangle with, he only ever spoke about his top line treatment. He kept everything very normal and certainly had an attitude of carrying on regardless – he was forever mowing the lawn even after a round of chemo. But the cancer always hung around like a little dark cloud, sometimes breaking to shower some more bad news.

 

It was about 5 years from his first diagnosis that Mum and Dad sat me down and said that things were now entering the final stages. Dad still felt like Dad, older and more tired maybe but it didn’t feel comprehendible. I did, however, have an inkling that they had known this for some time but held off the inevitable telling of this news until there was literally no return.

 

He had less than 5 months from that conversation but we had many family gatherings. Dad even managed a last-minute trip to his favourite place in Portugal for one final holiday and a glimpse of his favourite view of the ocean.

 

He returned from this trip and died 2 weeks later. He had said his goodbyes and had done all the admin he needed to do before he left this world; he was ready to go. When he passed my mum described it as ‘joyful’. She believes in angels and the angels, she said, definitely came for him.

 

I was relieved, a strange feeling to have but I felt his peace – the suffering was over for him. For us, his family, our loss continues. Grief is something that never goes away and has many guises, you don’t get over it you just learn to live with it.

 

Now, on reflection, I wish I had known more about his cancer, his diagnosis and his treatment. I wish I’d been more inquisitive, asked him more questions, asked him how he was and how he was feeling that day.

 

Mum was the one he shared his burden with, but I didn’t really ask him the questions ‘How are you? Do you want to talk about it?’. As a parent myself I understand the need to protect your children and shield them from unnecessary pain, but I can’t help but question whether it would have been easier for all of us to share this experience. Easier for us all to talk and have more conversations about it.

 

But talking to your family isn’t always straightforward and sometimes I think the ability to talk to a stranger going through a similar experience is easier – For both the patient and their loved ones. With strangers you can be more open and speak more frankly. You take some of the emotion out of the conversation, you remove that natural desire to protect the people you love, to spare them the worry.

 

Having a safe place to go to find out more or simply to talk to a person who ‘gets it’ is somewhere I’d have appreciated back then. Even now, 7 years on, I am keen to share my experience and give support to others that are going through the pain of cancer I know only too well.

 

That’s why I’m happy to be a part of the NowWhat community and encourage those going through similar situations to do the same. After all, nobody understands exactly how it feels as well as us, the people who’ve actually been through it.