I lost my dad Christmas day 1989 I was only 22 yrs old when I received the phone call at 5am on Christmas morning telling me he had died. His death was not expected he had been poorly all my life since I was a little girl. He had Pneumoconiosis Emphysema (what the miners have ) having worked in a asbestos boiler house at Leasowe hospital for many years. My memoirs of my dad consist of him coughing up blood as his lung were badly damaged. He also had trouble breathing and we lived with a few oxygen tanks in the house. My dad was admitted to hospital Christmas eve having run out of oxygen in the cylinders.
He was always saying those words am dying I had heard it many times before. He was laughing calling me a cheeky bugger.
It was Christmas Eve and it was getting late as we sat by his beside. With tired eyes we said our goodbyes with kisses and hugs and headed home ready for our Christmas day visit to the hospital with mum.
Little did I no that would be the last time I would ever see him alive.
Waking my mum we headed to the hospital I was so shocked as I tried to tell her my dad had died. She new something was wrong. Reaching Arrow Park Hospital we headed for the lifts to the wards it was then I managed to get those words out and told her my dad had died. My Uncle met us as we walked towards the ward.
We spent the next few hours with my dad before heading back home completely numb. Through out the day we had many visitors who came to see if we were alright.
It was a time I will never forget.
Its been 23 years since my dad died but the memory of his death is still as fresh as it was back then in 1989.
God Bless my dad at Christmas.