My Dad passed away from Duodenal cancer on the 26th of March, 2020. He was just 55 years old, and I myself am 18 years old.

It all started in the end of November, start of December, when Dad had gone to hospital with problems due to being unable to eat. He had been in hospital for a few weeks before he had finally told me he was in there.

He was diagnosed with Duodenal cancer, which is a rare and aggressive form of cancer. The Doctor's said he could go through Chemo, and that he would have 2 years left to live. When I heard the news, it shattered me into pieces. I just still can't accept it, even to this day.

He later went on to have a Gastric Bypass, so that he could still eat. This was great for him, since he had lost a lot of weight. He was very overweight before the operation, but due to living off of fluids, most of his fat had disappeared. It felt like he was doing better despite having cancer.

But then Christmas came.

He tried his best to have a great Christmas, and we did. But he couldn't eat anything, and he became so unwell because of this that he entered hospital on Christmas day. It was an awful time, and I worried deeply for him, but my University was starting back up again soon and so I needed to return.

I had given him a call every few days to check up on him, but he kept telling me he was fine, even when he was not. He had struggled to eat anything and due to this, he had nearly no energy left. He was told later in Febuary that he would not recieve Chemotherapy, due to him most likely dying from it. At this point, my life began to break down.

Then, two weeks before he died, I deferred my course and headed back to see him in the hospice. He was Jaundice, the first time I had seen him in two weeks. It tore me to shreds, and I needed to take time out to cry my eyes out. 

When I first saw him in the hospice, I thought he was a corpse.

But then he started moving and chatting away, like nothing bad had happened. It made me feel so at ease, so comfortable. But then just under two weeks later, he become unresponsive. On the night before he died, I was with him.

I had said my goodbyes then, on the 25th of March, at 11pm. The next morning, at 6am, I recieved a phone call. My father had passed away at 5:30am on the 26th of March. 

And i still dont want to accept it, even when I went to his funeral and carried his coffin, I'm still struggling. I've got the rest of my family around to support me, but it's so unfair. Why did he only get 4 months to live, why didnt he have any sort of treatment, why was it attached to his freaking blood vessels!

Why did he have to die so young, it still hurts so much. I never thought cancer was something that could happen to me. I had always thought of my family as stable and safe, but after what happened, I have finally had a reality check. People doe way too quickly, and it hurts a lot.

But at the same time, I feel so angry. Why couldn't he have been one of those miracle stories you see on the internet, which recovers from cancer and lives on to lead a nice life? Why was he fated to die, why him. Why did this happen to me.

And I hate feeling this way. It feels so selfish and disgusting, so uncaring and stupid. So many others have lost people to cancer, and those lucky few that do survive damn well deserve to live a happy life, after effectively going through one of the hardest things they will ever experience in life. And I wish everyone the best, and hope that cancer is beaten one day. I wish everyone could be cured from such a horrible, disgusting disease that has stolen so many of our loved ones lives away from us too early.

Thanks for reading this, My Dad was a great man and passed away way too early, it still hurts to this day and I'm sorry for everyone that is going through cancer, has gone through cancer or has died from cancer. I feel horrible for feeling this anger and jealousy towards those that still have their father, but at the end of the day, I dont want anyone else to feel the same way I do right now.

Thanks for listening to my rant.