This is for dad

And then comes that damn phone call. The call that requires you to get in the car immediately and, in my case, head towards Antwerp. My father was sick, yes, but everything would be fine. At least, that’s what he claimed every time I spoke to him. I shouldn’t worry so much, I was told in a somewhat irritated tone. His doctors were, after two miserable weeks of setbacks following his surgery, optimistic about his situation and as far as I had done my research, the survival chances of colon cancer looked optimistic.

He was in the middle of his chemo, and those chemotherapy sessions were going well. He was feeling good again. His smile was back and maybe it was even more often on his face than before, every time I came from Amsterdam to visit him. Dad was sort of back to his old self, minus half of his former body weight. I say ‘sort of’ because that hardness in his character that he always had had become tender. All the ‘negative’ traits that I (unfortunately) inherited from him (which my sisters and mother are all too eager to remind me of – still love you), were suddenly a million miles away. Don’t think my father was a terrible person; he was actually the opposite. But everyone has their less pleasant traits, right? (read: impatient and easily grumpy in this case and yes, I have both of those traits too).

We were back in the car and the second, (the worst of the two) phone call came. This would be a farewell trip to Antwerp. He was sick, really sick. So sick that the infection he had contracted could no longer be treated with antibiotics and so we were on our way to say goodbye to a man who, at 60 years old, was far from done with his life. After all, he had only been a grandfather to my dearest niece for a year and there were certainly many more to come.

But dad's body was weak. Nothing was working and dad was no longer dad. In the hospital lay someone who resembled my dad, but his spirit had long since settled in me, my mother, my oldest sisters, and the rest of his family. He passed away the next morning at ten minutes to eleven, a few days before Christmas. The weeks that followed, we were just going through the motions.
How everything went? Pfff, no idea. All I remember was that there was love in abundance and that did us good. That someone you loved dearly was also immensely loved by others all over the world is a special thing to experience.

As I type this, I am on vacation with my mother on the coast of Portugal, near Lisbon. A vacation she had actually planned with him, but one they unfortunately could never experience together. I will never be able to replace my father, her great love. But going on vacation with one of his four great loves – that was me – and knowing that he would be so intensely happy that my mother still sought out that Portuguese coast with their youngest child gives me peace of mind. Although my mother is now slightly irritated because I had promised not to write during our vacation. But mom, this is for dad, because he is probably somewhere enjoying sangria now.