On Your Own Cocker

I think one of the moments that changed all of this for me happened on a Sunday morning. It was just me and Dad. I sat with him as he slowly faded from the man I knew to a shadow of his former self. I sat there, alone, in hospital and held my Dad through a time I never wanted to face, his death. There was no noise. No rushing around. No bills to think about. No problems to solve.

Just me, Dad, a quiet early morning and his final moments.

Watching someone you love leave this world does something to you. It strips everything back. All the things we spend our lives worrying about suddenly seem so small. The arguments, the money worries, the people who upset us, the things we haven’t done, the things we wished we had said. That constant pressure we put ourselves under to keep going, achieve more, earn more and somehow get everything right and fit into everyone’s box. Non of this mattered. Dad took non of this with him. None of us can.

I sat alone in that hospital room, holding his hand and realised that all I was doing was replaying memories. Memories of days out on the farm, of Christmas mornings, of the days we had working together. Dad seeing the Grandchildren for the first time, how his face lit up when my boys walked through the door, the long conversations, the Sunday movies in the winter months. The unexpensive moments we had shared suddenly became the most valuable items he had left me.

It was that morning 23rd November 2025, that I realised I was walking out of that hospital a different person than when I went in. I learned the biggest lesson the hardest way.

I can’t take my worries, my money, my valuables, my troubles with me when I leave this world. But allowing them to consume me while I am here, means allowing them to take my life long before I die.

They can’t take my peace. My happiness. My time with my children. My time with my husband. The sunsets I didn’t notice because my head was somewhere else. the walks I didn’t enjoy because I was worrying about tomorrow. The ordinary moments that one day I would give anything to have back.

That Sunday morning made me realise that I don’t want to live like that anymore.

Of course I will still worry, I am human and a mum, but I won’t let that own me anymore.

I don’t want to miss life happening in front of me because I’m constantly trying to control what comes next. Because eventually there is no next. There is just a life you lived.

So now I’m learning something I should of learnt a long time ago, and something I am now teaching my children.

BE HERE!!

Right now!!

Drink the hot coffee.

Watch the sunset every night.

Watch the sunrise every morning.

Enjoy the dog walks.

Laugh with the kids.

Sit outside with my husband longer.

Take the trips.

Say I love you more.

Change direction when something doesn’t feel right.

Trust my gut.

Stop waiting for life to become perfect before allowing myself to enjoy it.

Let it go. Because watching Dad leave this world taught me that I cannot carry my worries with me. And I refuse to let them carry me away from the life I still have.

This is what grief has changed in me. I no longer trying to survive today so that I can live someday.

I am living for now!

(Apologies for no blog last week. It was mum’s birthday and I was struggling a little bit.)