It's been nearly a month since dad passed away. At the end of last year he had started getting pains in his stomach and back, and his gp thought it might be gall stones. After many months of appointments and a lot of pain, he was scheduled for surgery to have his gall bladder removed. We were all so relieved, finally he would have some relief from this agony that kept him up at night. I still struggle to understand how we got here from that optimistic point where we thought everything would be good for him again.

A couple of weeks before the surgery, dad started being sick all the time - huge amounts of vomit despite the fact that he couldn't face eating anything. Mum and I took him to hospital and little did we know that he would never leave. A week later he was diagnosed with metastatic cancer of the gall bladder - which I have found out since is a very rare and usually undetectable type of cancer until the last stages. There was talk of chemo eventually but dad spent the last two months of his life unable to eat, so he lost a huge amount of weight and was too weak to have any cancer treatment. The doctors made it clear that it wasn't curable but could be treatable in the future if dad regained his strength. Mum and I clung on to hope despite the fact that the doctors had told us there was nothing more they could do at that point. He had been in hospital 6 weeks at this point, and diagnosed for 5.

One weekend, suddenly it all went terribly wrong. Dad went from one day being amazingly bright and positive, to being delirious and barely able to open his eyes the next. I alerted the doctors to how much he had changed and they took mum and me aside to explain that he might have an infection he can't fight off, or it might just be the cancer progressing. We braced ourselves for the worst. 48 hours later, after spending the majority of the time with an oxygen mask on, dad passed away being held by his nurse, while mum and I stood back and watched in horror. It all happened with a matter of seconds - one minute he was fine and holding my hand, the next he had a spell of vomiting (as he had been doing for weeks) and then he was gone. He was 52 years old. It was exactly two months between the day he was diagnosed and the day he passed away, from pneumonia. I think cancer is often not the cause of death but is the reason for the cause.

I still haven't adjusted to what life could possibly be for me and my family without dad around. He was a good man, he didn't deserve to go but then I suppose no one ever deserves this horrible disease. I suppose it is a blessing that he didn't have to go through the grueling treatment, but he spent most of his time in a lot of pain and getting control of that was all that mattered to him in the end. The stress that my mum went through, and that I went through, was exhausting and horrible, and I suppose now we can have some peace knowing that he is at peace. He knows we love him so much, and I spend a lot of nights lying awake thinking about how unfair it is that he was taken away and now my mum doesn't have her husband. Im 22 and I will spend the rest of my life without without a dad. Grief is so painful, it's hard to imagine that so many people are affected by it every second of every day. My heart goes out to all of you, and if my dad's experience has taught me anything, its that you should always live for now - we have no idea what's around the corner. 

Love you so much dad, you made us very proud.