The Rest Is Silence

When I first started this blog I thought I would write a day by day account of my time in Ireland. A few weeks have passed and I don't quite feel the need to do that now. Maybe that's part of the grieving process. I thought by documenting that period, I wouldn't forget anything. However, I don't think I will forget. Well, not until I get old and my memory perhaps starts to fade!

So I guess this post is a (rather lengthy!) summing up. A little bit of closure in a way. I may take this blog down another avenue - yet to be decided! I have my photography website/blog for my photographs, but I haven't really got another place to blog about everything else. We'll see.

On my Dad's last day he had the breathing tube that he so hated taken out. The day before my Aunt and I had a meeting with the doctors who said they had made the decision to take it out. It wasn't breathing for my Dad, but it was helping him. Someone had to explain this to my Dad. I volunteered. "Dad, the doctors are going to take out the breathing tube in the morning, but once it's out the Doctors won't put it back in again. OK?" He nodded. I went in early the next day, when the breathing tube had been taken out. "Are you glad to have the tube taken out Dad?" A shake of his head; No. Shit. It was obviously harder for him to breath on his own than he realised and the nurses said it would take him much more effort.

The other thing he was very keen on was to get out of the ward he was on. I asked the Doctor again if he could be moved. At 6pm they took him to a side room off the Intensive Treatment ward. It was more private and had a little window. I hoped he would see it in the morning and it would give him some hope. They say if patients can see the sky they get better quicker. Dad had been quite sedated all day, so he probably wouldn't have realised he had been moved.

I stayed with him until about 9pm before going back to the hotel. I asked the nurse if she thought it would be ok, and she said yes, and that she had my number should she need to call. My aunt called at about 10.30pm to let me know that she took a notion to go back to the hospital and sit with my Dad.

I had a bite to eat, but couldn't really sleep. At about 2am a nurse called; it was best if I came in. I have never panicked so much in my life. I called reception and told them to call a taxi, to tell them to wait and it was an emergency. I threw on my clothes, jumped in the cab and got to the hospital in record time. It was very quite on the ward, and the lights were dimmed in my Dad's room. The nurse closed the door, giving us privacy.

My aunt and I sat at each side of his bed and held his hand. I am not sure he knew we were there. Apparently when people are sedated they still have a sense of awareness. The nurse had switched off the heart monitor screen in his room so we couldn't watch it which is probably just as well as we would have been glued to it.

We could hear my Dad taking each breath. Then his breathing got slower. And slower. He breathed out. The nurse came in. "He hasn't breathed in! He hasn't breathed in!!!" I said to her. "He's going now", she replied and she left the room again. He took one more breath and he was gone. All these words started pouring out. "I love you Daddy. We are here for you. Granny and Grandad will be waiting for you." I can't remember everything I said, there was just a stream of words and tears.

We said our goodbyes and I was left on my own with my Dad. I said goodbye again and again. I kept walking to door, then returning to his bedside. I gave him a hug and a kiss and told him again and again that I loved him. It was 3.45am on Wednesday 20th January.

Later in the morning we returned to Londonderry. The funeral director visited and all the practical details of the funeral were arranged. I was in an exhausted, emotional daze at this point and anxious to get to my Dad's house. I wanted to be around his things, to sit in his arm chair, to be alone.

The wake was held on the Friday at the funeral home. I was very reluctant to go. I had said all my goodbyes to my Dad already. But I went, and got through it, and said goodbye to my Dad again. The day before I visited a shop and got my Dad a couple of medals and a little card with one of his favourite pieces of prose on it; Desiderata. I picked out a photo and slipped them into the inside of his jacket.

The chapel of rest was packed and everyone gathered at 5.30pm for the priest to say some prayers and for my Dad to be taken to the Cathedral ready for his funeral in the morning. The hearse drove slowly up the hill and everyone followed. I kept looking behind me at all the people. Passersby on the street stopped and respectfully bowed their heads. I was so pleased that so many people had come along and hoped my Dad could see it.

The last time I was at the Cathedral was with my Dad. I managed to persuade him to come out with me at 4am to take some photos of the city for my photographic project; the 4am project. He wasn't too keen on it at first, but he really enjoyed the experience and seeing his city at another time of day. I know he was very proud when some of the photographs made it into his local paper, the Derry Journal.

At the Cathedral, the priest said some more prayers, and I said goodbye to my Dad again. I asked the priest if I could go up to the top and take a photograph. Someone escorted me up a stone spiral staircase. It's such a beautiful place and I was so pleased the funeral was held there.

The cathedral was just up the road from where my Dad grew up (and where I lived for a couple of years). There is a school attached to it, and I went to school there years ago. Derry does feel like a second home.

The next morning was the funeral. It was a cold, still, foggy day, though the sun was trying to break through.

I had been given a reading to do. I am so glad as I wanted to be able to say something at his funeral. Luckily it was at the beginning of the mass. I held it together, and spoke clearly, my voice only breaking a little bit at the end, "May the Lord be with you."

A friend of the family did a reading too, and sang a hymn. She has such a beautiful voice. That's when the tears broke through.

The priest said some words about my Dad based upon what one of my Dad's child hood friend had written. I can't remember a lot of it, but I do remember the priest telling the story of when my Dad was a school and taking his English exam. My Dad has added a PS at the bottom of the exam paper; 'PS The rest is silence.' This is a quote from Hamlet and it has stuck with me.

O, I die, Horatio;
The potent poison quite o'er-crows my spirit;
I cannot live to hear the news from England,
But I do prophesy the election lights
On Fortinbras: he has my dying voice;
So tell him, with the occurrents, more and less,
Which have solicited. The rest is silence.

I asked my friend Katie from Super Cool Design if she could design something around the quote using a 'Shakespeare' font. The design is perfect and I now have it printed and in a frame. The words that my Dad wrote many years ago at school mean so much to me now.

We also had another female singer at the funeral who sang about six hymns. I chose Ave Maria. It was so beautiful to hear it in such a setting, and I know my Dad loved that song.

My Dad was buried with his Mum, Dad and brother. I can't really remember what the priest was saying as I stood by the grave side. An old lady stood next to me and held my hand. I still don't know who she was but I am grateful she was there.

As I said goodbye to my Dad again, I took a flower from one of the wreaths. It was the wreath that was placed on the door of the funeral parlour. I now have it pressed in one of my Dad's big dictionaries.

I spent a week in my Dad's house altogether. I chatted away to him. Took some photographs. I didn't want to disturb anything.

Unfortunately, the practical things had to be done and as the days went by items were moved and dislodged from their usual places. I made a pile of mementos that I wanted to keep. I found a list of his favourite songs, and later a memory stick with them on. I found a list of his favourite films, which will be films I will now watch.

To my surprise I found a ticket from our holiday in Rome in his wallet. It's the exact same ticket that I keep in my purse!

My Dad always loved doing crosswords. I kept the last Times crossword that he was working on. It's quite funny, as he frequently won the The Times crossword competition over the years, so he would sometimes enter mine, or another family members name on there instead!

I have lots of photographs that I have yet to go back and look through when I am feeling strong enough.

I learnt a lot about my Dad after his death. I met his old school friends. I learnt that he was probably not feeling great for some time before he went into hospital, but didn't want to tell me in case I worried. I learnt that his hearing difficulties had a much bigger effect on his life and his confidence than I realised. I learnt that he was very, very proud of me, even though he didn't really tell me.

I wish he was still here, just so I could have one last conversation with him. I wish I had said more to him whilst he was in hospital. And I miss him.

I hope he his happy where ever he is now, and he knows how much I love him.