This week last year was a tough week, probably one of the toughest.
Dad was at Marymount Hospice and visibly getting worse with each passing day and there was a relay of family members sitting by his bedside 24/7 holding his hand and trying to keep him as comfortable as possible under the circumstances.
The visitors came and went, all coming to spend some last time with him and he tried his very best to be attentive and at a minimum give them a customary thumbs up as they left.
Laura, my sis was terrific and barely left his side, my brother Colin (who had to come from the States) was a star and the grandkids showed their true colours and my own Ellen also had a path worn to that place, where we all hate to even contemplate, but one where dignity and care are delivered with an abundance of compassion and kindness.
I tried my best to play my part, visiting for hours each day and yes I did do a few overnights but I must admit I struggled with that caring part, that minding, nursing instinct – it felt strange for me as this was my strong dad, the one that cared for us and not the other way around.
I think in a funny way, that he would have realised he was in serious trouble if I was by his side helping him with his food, or drinks as that was all he was able for at that stage.
On the night of the 25th January, 2018 my dad, Michael Canty peacefully slipped away with us all by his side.
I deliberately haven’t mentioned my mum yet, but on this night she insisted that we all said a Rosary, not one decade but the full shebang!
I whispered to my daughter, Ellen that this might finish him off – humour can be a great way to lighten the pain at such times and dad would have been the very first one to say something funny to cheer you up or take your mind off something bad.
I spoke too soon and literally with the very last words of the Rosary, with us all sitting in a circle holding his and each others hands he took his very last breath and left us.
Mum is a colossal tower of strength and was incredible with dad during his sickness, minding both him and us. During those last weeks she barely left his side and while she was losing the love of her life she still was so conscious of how all of us were coping at this awful time.
Since then mum has been incredible. It’s nearly a full year on and in particular the last few weeks have been really tough for her.
We all know dad took a bad turn on Christmas Day, we know the day he left the house for the Bon Secours and never came home again, we know where he was on New Years; Eve, we know the day he was told he was going to Marymount (that was heart breaking “I thought I was getting better, now I’m really worried” he said) and we can pretty much relive each calendar day until the 25th and the funeral.
Mum has been so positive, organising the funeral, responding to all the letters and cards, getting out as much as she can, she goes to mass each day and visits the cemetery, she comes over for dinner regularly, she meets the neighbours, she visits dad’s sister, and she warmly greets the procession of visitors who all enjoy her fantastic company. If she’s not up to visiting she tells us, and that’s ok too.
Of course she is in mourning and of course she is deeply upset and she does have her teary moments but she has been a warm, brilliant, caring and strong person for the rest of us.
Dad was lucky, we are all so lucky.
So, on this tough week I wanted to acknowledge and salute one of the very best people that I know on this planet, my mum, Ann Canty.
Greg
Greg Canty Fuzion Blog 