The sunlight supported me this year…

At first it seemed to confirm my own optimism; he’d get better of course…

But after the terminal diagnosis, it served to comfort my mourning.

sometimes when I couldn’t sleep I photographed

collecting fallen hair

Dad cried when he told me that the previous night, he’d requested a dedication to he and mum on the hospital radio, but she’d had to leave before they played it. So I made a request for Cat Steven’s Hardheaded Woman and reminded dad about a camping holiday we’d spent singing along to his greatest hits. I remembered dad smiling down at my 10 year old face and asking ‘Bug, do you think you’re a hard headed woman? I didn’t really know what it meant, but I was pretty sure he’d like me to grow up to be.

I’m looking for hardheaded women, one who will make me do my best / one who will make me feel so good. And if I find my hardheaded women, I know the rest of my life will be blessed / I know my life will be as it should. Cat Stevens

Me

I couldn’t be a photographer when this happened, I was a daughter. After I’d swept up the glass I paused, for what felt like a long while, before managing to photograph the milkshake stain. Perhaps I’d proved (to myself or my parents? I’m not sure which was the necessity) that I was a daughter before a photographer.

Sitting in the garden became an event, then a days activity, and eventually a strain that he endured only to comfort us. Or was it to comfort himself? I wondered endlessly, but really there was no difference.

Family Portrait

Dad’s glass

Dree’s last visit

The inanity of endless hours in hospital, eroded his spirit. But, we only sensed that because we knew him. Outwardly he continued to shine, to give, to live, because he lived to contribute. And he lived as long as he possibly could.

I photographed the end before I saw it…

I wondered when dad would tell me that he felt it coming…

But I knew he didn’t want to

Welcome to The End

At our family dinner table Dad had always been called, ‘the dustbin’. As his appetite disappeared, Mum couldn’t bring herself to finish his food. But I could. By this point, up-holding the waste-not-want-not values he’d instilled in me felt more worthwhile than hoping he might eventually force down enough food to regain strength.

Sleep…

Drink…

Try to think

Today we knew he would die soon. I went outside and looked at the sky while we waited for the ambulance. It was perfectly beautiful.

Jess and Dad

“You seem like a very kind man David”. “Well thank you alan I tried”. “Just keep on trying my friend”.

When we said goodnight on his last lucid day, he said; ‘Think about what we should shoot tomorrow for the project’.

By tomorrow his shine was gone – just his shape remained. I knew he wanted me to shoot it. His unconscious contribution.

Dad left the hospital bed in the living room empty, when he returned to the hospice after only 3 nights. I think the others found it strange that I wanted to seep in it.

The last thing I remember him saying was ‘I’m not frightened of dying, I’m just worried about you guys’

I looked in the mirror a lot as we waited.

‘Hasn’t he got beautiful hands… I always loved his hands’. Mum didn’t seemed perturbed by his yellowing skin. When he finally stopped struggling for breath he looked peaceful but very dead to me. Mum said ‘doesn’t he look beautiful… he looks beautiful to me’.

25th August 2009

Me and Dad

Me as Dad, 1986