Gerard's blog

My father died at roughly 5:30am on Thursday 25 June 2009. Later that day, Michael Jackson and Farrah Fawcett would follow him, a fact I’m sure he would not care about.

As you know, he died from lung cancer and the weakening side-effects of chemotherapy which left him vulnerable to pneumonia. This is the story of his final journey, the discovery of his cancer and those short, final two months which led to his end.

To say that the last few weeks have been stressful would be pushing the art of the euphemism to its absolute limits.

My father’s condition has deteriorated (he has cancer) since his second round of chemotherapy. Suddenly, I’ve been dealing with some overwhelming emotions - intense grief and a sadness that I’ve never felt before. As the prospect of him dying becomes ever more real, feelings and memories have been jumping out at me, helping to crystallize my father’s role in my life.

Every time I visit my father in the hospital, I pass the Blood Transfusion Service. It's been weeks now, and with each passing day I've been questioning why I don't give blood.

This last week though, I've been trying to push myself towards making a donation. I've had to accept that I'm slightly nervous about blood - I once had a white-out at a First Aid course when they started talking about the different types of bleeding! However, that slight fear finally spurred me on today. The other motivating factor was the amount of time I've spent in hospitals lately and the fact that donating was a quick and efficient way to make a difference.

During my visit to the hospital, I decided to put on my "man of action" head and just do the donation. I'd had lunch at the hospital, thus satisfying the requirement not to make the donation on an empty stomach. I had Dan with me, but left him with my mother for an hour while I walked over to the transfusion place.

This could be quite a difficult post to write, because as I type this, my father is seriously ill in hospital. The outlook is not good for him.

All of this started almost three weeks ago. We had returned from a short trip to London and the very next morning got a phone call from a family member in my hometown. The shocking news: my father had been taken to hospital...in Lourdes. I raced across to France to help organise my parents' return home, and heard the French doctors' diagnosis that he appeared to have two have two tumors and two aneurysms.

We returned home on the 18 April and my father was taken straight to the local hospital, where he stayed for a few days. However, he was released because they couldn't do the required tests straight away. He went back to hospital to have a tissue sample of the suspected tumor in his lung last Friday.

But by Saturday night, another phone call - he'd been rushed to hospital after collapsing in the house. He was having breathing difficulties and dizziness. I went straight to the hospital, and met my worried-faced family. While we were there, he started taking serious chest pains and was hoarsely crying out in agony. Word came from the doctors that he had some kind of chest infection which was affecting his breathing. But, boy did he look bad at the height of those pains.

What do you do when you notice your child's friendships breaking down?

Do you intervene, do you try to get them to talk it out? Do you try to get them to spend time apart? Do you mind your own business and be there to pick up the pieces?

Rachel (who's only 7 years old, remember) is having quite a bit of friction with her best friend of the last 3 or so years. The other little girl is quite introverted and likes to keep Rachel to herself. She's not keen on the two of them mixing with other kids, although we try to make sure Rachel has other options.

There's a book out there called "50 Lies to Tell Small Kids" or something like that. But there should be a warning on some of the white lies we tell them, because they can backfire.

Our two boys had gathered a small army of kids in our back garden for general fun and merriment. The boisterousness level increased gradually, with some ill-advised climbing happening on the swings and bicycles strewn everywhere. It was only a matter of time before one of them came in with an injury from a fly-away swing.

I have a thing about heights. I love them. There's something so thrilling about being high up on a mountain, looking down on the scenery below.

Until now though, I've never dared to drag the kids along...until last weekend. There's a mountain down near where I grew up called Knocklayde. It looms about 1600 feet high above the town of Ballycastle.

You know the old schoolyard saying, "Liar Liar, pants on fire!" Well, Rachel came up with a wacky variation this evening: "Liar Liar, pants for hire."

I don't know where it came from but I was slightly shocked and wildly amused at the wit in the saying. I'm assuming it came from a cartoon or something, because it's not the type of thing she'd just come up with.