‘Hey Daph, dad is very ill. I have bowel cancer. I don’t think I have much time’.
I sat and stared. At my phone, at the wall. It took a while before reality sank in enough for me to cry. We thought it might be weeks. Maybe months. He should’ve had another 30 years. It turned out to be four years that flew by in a heartbeat.
After years of preparing for the day it would happen, the loss still came unexpected. After all, it was always going to be some day, but not today and not tomorrow. Dad said he was planning to die in April, so I held onto the weeks we should’ve had left and ignored the warning signs that those weeks weren’t to come.
Monday night my 53 year old dad, self-proclaimed superhero and all round cool dude lost his long, hard fight against bowel cancer. This was the last (and amazing) dish he cooked for us a year ago. To all the doctors, nurses and researchers who gave dad a few more years with us: thank you. And thank you dad for everything.
Dad made his lame dad jokes all the way until he couldn’t anymore. I don’t think he’s a ghost now, because I’m 100% certain he would’ve pranked us already. I’ll remember the way his face lit up when we brought him a big bottle of his favourite drink. I’ll think of him every time I eat his favourite food. I like to think he’s somewhere now where he can have char siu, Coca-Cola and KFC until he explodes.
Goodbye, dad. Your jokes were funny. Kind of. I miss you.
Back to schedule soon.