By Melissa Rogers, whose dad died from cancer in January 2018
My dad, Brian Howell, died from lung cancer on 17th January 2018, less than two weeks before his 65th birthday and his long awaited retirement.
He'd been a single parent for a time, a stepfather, a grandad to twelve, a friend to many and a devoted husband. He was a lover of people and great conversation who also enjoyed his own company. A baby whisperer, a constant learner, inventive, creative, artistic and a hilarious eccentric man! Who we all miss so much.
Here are the Five Things I’ve learnt about live and death since my dad died:
Since the day the oncologist told us that dad’s cancer was incurable, I wished that he didn't have it. I wished that there had been a mistake. My heart broke to watch him become even more poorly. On the day that he died, although I hate to admit it, I felt so lucky to have known that he was going to die soon and that I’d had the opportunity to spend every minute I could with him. I couldn't stop thinking about people who had just dropped dead unannounced or people that may have been hit by a bus. I'd known my dad was going to die and I was grateful that I knew it was coming.
We are all going to die, and we all know that. But we don't accept it, not really. We were an open family and we often joked about death. We laughed at the songs we would pick for funerals. My siblings and I would often tell my dad "I'm having that when you die" or "you'll only sell your artwork when you’re dead and then we’ll get the cash" and we'd all have a good laugh and perhaps even a serious chat about death... but it would still end up as laughter.
But it wasn't funny when we knew Dad's death was imminent. It was too painful, so painful. We couldn't speak about it. Dad in particular couldn't say anything about it at all. We were not open about death.
After Dad had died, my sister and I were convinced that we’d find all the things my Dad found too painful to say to us near the end of his life penned on paper for us to treasure forever. He was a man of so many words of wisdom with wonderful stories and adventures to tell, and often opinions that perhaps we didn't like. He didn't do it, he didn't write a letter or leave a card. He couldn't do it - facing death might very well be the thing that destroyed him.
Telling my Children that Grandad was going to die felt like the cruellest thing I ever did. I had to do it and I'm glad I did. I'm glad that they understood that time was precious. I'm so glad that when Grandad did die, although it was awful and they were devastated, being honest with them was by far the best decision.
And now when asked questions like "are you going to die Mummy?" I always answer "everyone does darling, hopefully I'll get to live to be a really old lady".
I'll never regret my honesty.
My dad made me laugh so much and so often when he was alive. He made me really really laugh! When you’re laughing so much that there is no noise coming out and tears are streaming down your cheeks and then you stop for a bit but it's just so damn funny that you’re off laughing again.
Initially thinking of all the things he would have laughed at if he'd been here to see them made me cry - cry because I was so sad that he'd missed so much and sad because I missed the sound of his laugh.
I still miss the sound of his laugh and I miss everything about him every single day! I also thank him for the sense of humour he gave me and I laugh now when something is funny and I laugh even harder when I think of my dad's reaction to it. Death doesn't suck the funny out of everything forever.
About Melissa Rogers
Melissa lives in Carmarthenshire with her husband Jo and their seven children.
