As time goes on my adult daughters are opening up to me more and more about the final stages of their Dads illness and the things they witnessed that I wasn't aware of. Although I was Mikes primary carer and was with him the majority of the time I still had to work to support us financially. My oldest daughter called me at work two weeks before he died in a terrible state crying to me that I needed to come home. I came home immediately off course. She had already called palliative care to administer pain meds and he was reasonably comfortable when I arrived. He was so happy to see me although he was confused about why I was home early. Anyway, this was the final stage of our journey, pain pump fitted, catheter, oxygen tanks and then the worst when my daughters and I helped the hospice nurse to transfer my beautiful strong husband to a hospital bed in our bedroom. A 6 foot three skeleton.He was unconscious from then on. There was nothing we could do for the next eight days until he died but sit and talk to him. I sat next to him and dipped an ear bud in water to moisten his lips and tongue, his tongue was like a rock. I had never felt so utterly helpless in my entire life. He continued to fight though until I told him "ok that's enough now, I'll be o.k. He died early the next morning before I woke up. I knew the minute I got out of bed that he was gone. I took time on my own to run my hands over my darlings body one final time, his stomach was still warm, his beautiful arms and his strong legs, the heart tatoo on his chest with my name. I'm crying now, can't go on.