Shivery stuff

My Dad was in the Royal Navy for over 20 years, spending much of that time as Head Chef on board ship. In the 1970s he was exposed to asbestos, as he had to remain on board when his ship was docked- whilst the old asbestos lagging was stripped out and replaced with something else. When he talks about it, he says that when he walked through the ship his boots looked like they'd been covered in snow.

The dangers of asbestos weren't much known then, but since the 1990s Dad has had regular chest scans. Several of the men he worked with have died from asbestosis. Last June, at a reunion, a friend of his said that he'd been diagnosed in April. In June he looked OK, but he died in October.

Last Autumn, Dad started to sound different over the phone. I couldn't put my finger on it, just a difference. Then, at the end of a phone call, he said, "Love you!", something he has never said.

We went to visit him before Christmas to exchange presents. Sure enough, he told me that this time the scan had showed asbestosis. Much more than that, he wouldnt' say. He didn't want to talk about it much.

Dad and me, last month.

Now, Dad has exaggerated about things before, so I'm a bit confused. If it is asbestosis then I need to be prepared as it could progress really quickly. If that sounds harsh of me, or self-centred, let me explain that Dad has alwayd been a every headache is a migraine, every migraine is a brain tumor type of person! Do you know anyone like that? He has always exagerated health problems. Maybe it is his way of being prepared for the worst. I don't know.

So I don't know how to take it. One half of me says I should prepare to say goodbye, and gather my strength up for when he needs it. The other half of me just says, don't worry, he's got years yet, you just wait and see.

Somehow my gut feeling though, is that he isn't exagerrating this time. The difference, this time, is that he seems scared.

All I can do is make sure that this year isn't one of those years when I hardly see him. I need to be in touch more. Keep an eye on him. I will definitely be there for him.

What I'm not sure I can do is prepare myself to lose him.

I was very close to him as a child. The times when he came home on leave were little breathing spaces for me; no one hit me when he was home. As soon as he left, they turned on me again. I felt like Cinderella; fine when Dad was home, beaten when he wasn't.

As a wee girl, I would see him off at the gate when he left to go back on ship, standing at the gate a good half an hour till he disappeared on the bend of the road in the distance. Nowadays, my siblings aren't in touch with him much at all. In my mind I imagine a funeral where again, I'm alone looking after him, the rest of the family nowhere to be seen, untouched by his departure.

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It's Dad's birthday this Sunday. He likes nautical pictures and I usually send him a card with boats on (!) but this year I'm making one with a lighthouse:

OoooOOooooO- looks like a spaceship from Star Trek is coming in to land.... it's just the reflection of the light fitting, don't worry, it's not the Romulans!

I bought some acetate and drew the lighthouse with the type of outliner you use in glass painting. I've coloured it with Sakura Stardust pens. I plan to back the lighthouse with white tissue, put it in a frame, then set it onto some blue paper with torn edges to describe waves. I hope I manage to make something nice for him. If not, Tesco is open 24 hours!!!!!!