My father is dying. He has an extremely rare brain disease meaning he won’t be around for much longer.
Surprisingly, I take comfort in knowing roughly how much time we have left together. Nothing is taken for granted and I can plan the last few days of the quality time we have.
The general diagnosis is that he’ll be around for another year at least, but the next time I see him he won’t be able to move, speak, or even recognize me.
I’ve spent most of the last week sat with him in the living room listening to music from his past.
Echo and the Bunnymen
The Rolling Stones
My dad, born in the 1950s, is a man mostly of the 1970s and early 1980s.
It’s been wonderful (and difficult) sitting down with him and exploring his past through music.
His face lights up whenever a track comes on that he remembers. I’ve never seen him smile so much, especially in front of me.
Just before my mother brought his dinner in to him earlier this evening he turned to me and said,
“It’s great when you come back.”
That’s the second time in a week he’s said that, both times while listening to music together, and it’s the closest a man of his background and generation will probably ever come to saying those immortal words we all want to hear.
Less than an hour has past since he said that and I write this now. He won’t remember saying it.
But I will.
I will remember it forever.
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