Hi, my wonderful dad was diagnosed with stage 4 lung cancer in October last year, and passed away aged 82 on Tuesday this week. I took him to all his appointments he ever had over the last few years due to other health problems, arranged and took him for his covid vaccinations, did his shopping every week throughout the pandemic, and tried to take him out to do nice things whenever he felt up to it (this became less and less since October).
As time went on this year, he withdrew from life, and when I went over or called him, he seemed like he didn't want to talk or be disturbed if he was in bed. I tried to respect this and kept conversations short and there was a spell of three weeks in March where I didn't go over at all (due to my son being ill) but rang to check on him. When I finally went to his house, I found him in bed in an absolutely terrible state - he had obviously taken himself to bed at some point during those three weeks and not got back out - not eaten, drunk, confused and hallucinating - he was a mess - it was absolutely devastating to see and I couldn't believe this had happened to him after I'd been speaking to him just a couple of days earlier.
I called his doctor to come and check on him who said it was a social issue rather than medical, but I wasn't convinced. I called his care team and social worker to come and they all agreed he needed to be in hospital. He spent three weeks in hospital, was rehydrated, and a scan showed his cancer had spread everywhere in his brain. I went to see him every day and as it was obvious he couldn't return home, I arranged for him to be in a nursing home 5 mins round the corner from my house.
The staff were amazing there and took care of the personal care and medications while I was able to visit every day, sometimes twice a day to just sit with him and talk to him. On Tuesday 24th May, I sat with him all morning and saw that his breathing had changed slightly and his face was a different sort of colour. I had to return home to walk my dogs, and I had some lunch before going back, aiming to be back there for 2.30. I'm not sure why but I didn't rush back - for some reason, I took my time at home and was just getting ready to go back when my phone rang at 2.35. It was the nurses to say dad's breathing had changed again and to come over. When I arrived, he had already passed away at 2.30, they just didn't want to tell me over the phone. He looked so much more peaceful after the horror of watching him slowly die and everything gradually failing over the last five weeks, he genuinely looked like he was asleep. They told me a nurse was in the room when it happened and I sat with him for over an hour afterwards, just being with him at peace.
Now however, I can't stop wondering why I didn't rush to get back that day and be at his side as he left this world, and it's starting to really affect me. I cry every time I think about that day, and wish desperately that I had just done my jobs I needed to do quickly and returned there for when I had planned then I would have been with him. I can't understand why I almost went into slow motion, despite knowing his passing was near. I'm glad there was someone in the room with him, although seeing him that morning, there wasn't much awareness - his eyes were already closed and if one opened slightly, it couldn't really focus. But I feel as though I have been on overdrive for six weeks, rushing over to see him after finishing work, just being with him as much as possible, and then the moment he may have really needed someone there, I wasn't with him and it makes me so so sad. How can I forgive myself for this?
