As I look out of my window today, Friday 26th February, it’s a blue sky, no clouds and warm for a February day. That’s exactly how it was last year, I remember that as we sat in the Uber, how unusually bright and cloudless the sky was. Dad, even in February you can make the sunshine.
Summer was always your favourite season.
We get to the hospital at about quarter past 10. Mum and Bubbly go into see you. Kawal and I wait outside speculating why we’ve been called. Dad, we got it so wrong! The doctor said he’d like to speak to all of us with you. My initial thought was that you’re waking up, you’re getting better, you’re coming home. Once we’re inside the ICU, the first thing I notice is the dialysis machine has gone. There was this massive space where it once stood.
That’s when the doctor started talking. I’m not sure what exactly he said but I just remember him saying ‘there’s nothing else we can do for your dad’. What he said thereafter, I don’t know because I left, it’s not what I wanted to hear. I left you, mum, Kawal and bubbly in there, to listen to the doctor.
I remember running down the corridor, a police officer stopped me, asked if I was ok, I just replied ’my dad is fine, the doctors have got it wrong!’.
Dad, now when I look back and compare you to the other patients, you looked the most comfortable, yes you were asleep but you always looked at peace and weren’t in pain. That’s probably the most reassuring thing about this all.
The doctor, mum and the girls found me in the waiting room. The doctor then explained to us why the dialysis machine was taken off. It just wasn’t working for you anymore, and that they couldn’t give you any more medicine because it just wasn’t going to help you. He asked us to think about turning of your machines that were keeping you alive. Don’t worry we said no! We told the doctor that’s not our decision and that you’ll decide when the time was right.
The doctor agreed, and said he’d give us another few hours with you, and then we’d have to make a decision.
We then had to make the phone calls to your family and friends. Telling them that today may be your last with us. Someone asked me what time ?! My head wanted to ask them ‘what time suits you?’ But don’t worry dad, I didn’t, I just said ‘when dad feels it’s the rights time for him’.
The staff at the ICU were so sympathetic towards us. The two to a bed rule no longer applied to us. There was a good 30 of us, your closest friends and family. The boys from your garage closed the workshops to be with you too. Everyone who could be with you was there.
We played your favourite hymn Taati wao na laggai’.
Dad, You said that if you recite this part, whenever you are worried, scared or in pain, this shabad will take it away from you. That’s what we wanted for you. We didn’t want you to worry about us, we didn’t want you to feel scared, and most of all the pain in our hearts shouldn’t be there because as a husband, a dad, a father-in-law and grandad you are simply the best.
Dad, at about 4:15pm you had tears as you took your last breath with us and finally fell asleep forever.
It was Wednesday 26 to February 2020, Wednesday was always your favourite day of the week !
The nurses allowed us to stay for about 30minutes or so. She asked us very kindly to leave so she could make you comfortable. As we walked down the corridor, we met that man whose nephew had been stabbed. This time we shook our head, and he knew, he hugged us all telling us what a great man you are, we said you’re right he is great man. He cried for our loss, we cried for our loss, we told him we will continue to pray for his nephew.
Dad, the strangest feeling happened to me, all of sudden I had the urge to eat or drink something. It had been well over 24hrs since we had anything. Dad, guess what I wanted? That’s right a coffee, in particular a decaf skinny cappuccino! That’s what we all did, all 30 of us, we went to the canteen and ate. You had bought us altogether with the one thing you love eating and drinking.
We came back up to see you, one last time. Omg! How comfortable did you look! You had what looked like kurta, it was white and made out of cotton. It was so you, I remember your pale blue one that you’d wear at home. You always used to relax in them. You liked it because you’d say it was smart, cool and comfortable at the same time. Yet again it this one made you look smart, cool and comfortable all in one go.
We were told you had to be moved so they could clean the area for another patient and that we should say our goodbyes.
Dad, I never nor will I ever say goodbye to you. I whispered in your ear, see you soon dad, (and I also told you not too soon)’.
Miss you dad
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