In January of this year my Dad climbed out of bed as usual, he bent down to pick up his pants and there was a loud crack. His spine had just snapped in half due to what we one week later found out was cancer. From that moment on he was bed ridden, unable to sit up, stand, or roll over. A week later the doctors came and gathered around his bed, told us he had 4 different type of cancer in 4 areas and that none where operable. He and Mum choose not to know how long he had, but the doctors told me. Like the good daughter I hide this from them, partly because they didn't want to know, and partly because I could not make those horrible words come out of my mouth. They had just sold their home and where between homes, the doctors said he could go home for the time he had left, with the help of palliative care, but they needed a place that would be suitable. So I began the search, I was desperate to find them a home so Dad could at least die in his own home with his family and not a hospital. Over a 6 week period I found them a home, sorted out the paperwork, paid for it, move them in and got the palliative care okay for him to come home. We brought him home on the 19 February 2007, I had balloons and a huge 'welcome to your new home' sign filling their new lounge-room. Dad looked around from the stretcher that he was on and smiled, he said it was the best thing he had ever seen. They took him up to his bedroom, not so much a nice bedroom, a room with a hospital bed in it that happened to be in a small home. So started the horrible round of palliative nurses, morning and night, doctor visits once or twice a week, and the hushed whispers of those that knew. Mum nursed him as no one ever could of. She was a woman possessed. She would yell at the nurses if they hurt him, tell them to get out she did everything for him, fed him, bathed him, toileted him, changed his dressings, held his hand, whispered her love to him, and prayed for a miracle to save him. Mum had already saved his life a few times. He had suffered heart attacked, had serious falls, each time she was there and if not for her he never would of survived. This time, I'm sure deep down she knew that she could not save him, but it never stopped her trying. I live a 4 hour flight away, and after getting Dad settled in I flew home, went back to work, rang every other day, and hoped for the same miracle Mum was hoping for. Time passed slowly, I planned a Mothers day visit, booked plane tickets, and headed down to see them. My sister was turning 50 on Mothers day as well, so it would be a double visit. That flight in May 2007 was one of the hardest thing I have ever done, I had a feeling things were not going well with Dad, but it wasn't until I saw him that I realized how much he had changed. I knew when I saw him that it would be the last time I saw him alive,   but I smiled and laughed with him, told him about work, showed him photos, did all the normal things you do on a visit. On Mothers day I spent the morning with them, then drove 2 hours to see my own daughter. By the time I got there Mum was on the phone to me, she couldn't wake Dad up. Did she want me to go back, no was her reply, not tonight, but maybe tomorrow. I had a sleepless night, and an early morning phone call from a palliative care nurse to tell me that I should get there as soon as possible.  I was back there by lunchtime, Dad was in and out of a coma, I kissed his forehead, held his hand, told him I was there and that I loved him. He died at 6:30pm 14th May 2007, with his family around him, at home, just as he wished.   I look back over what I have written, its raw, at times even seems cold, but that's how it happened. I lost one of the people that has always been in my life, accepted me no matter what, loved me through all my most stupidest moments...... Now one of those people is gone, just like that, forever a memory. He was my anchor, my rock,  my sounding board, my best friend, my Dad, and he loved me, just because I was me, and I love him, just because he was the man he was.    I'm dilli, and I miss my Dad