The road to the end,

I pay the cabbies bill and with legs like jelly struggle across the packed road, jet lagged and loaded with bags. The last time i was here I was a little girl with a long flowing hair, bunches dancing in the wind. That was over 30 years ago, long before I become an Aussie

. Now I was home, due to the fact that we had a call out of the blue. I’m still numb with shock ; Dad who i hadn’t spoken to for three decades because a stubborn streak runs in our family blood and we are stupid had passed away .

Standing at the threshold i take in cold damp air of London, and think no wonder mum decided to emirate.

Opening the front door, which still has the same faded green peeling wood i enter the old house.. Standing still I listen to to creaks and groans of the building I called home for five years of my life.

Looking round I can see him at the table reading the paper, the pages cracking as he tried to get a grip on something important he was reading. Then he pop his head up over the top and shout, ‘I see you Pumpkin!!’ as he chases me to bed and makes me listen to one of his horror stories, til i fall asleep.

Pulled out of my reverie I glance round the room and see a letter with a big cardboard box sitting on the table. Nothing else, just the box and letter as if it demanded to be given full attention. Almost trance like I stumble across the room and pick up the letter that’s actually addressed to me.

In a lovely Italic ‘To my beloved Ruth’.

In this box your find my will and my story enclosed within the pages of my daily journal. You remember the one,: chunky black, with a broken clasp that you said looked more like a bible. Within its fading pages it traces how it changed everything i held dear and documents the fight and bravery i endured. I love you more and wished things hadn’t gone the way they had but whats done is done. Till we meet again, your loving Dad.

Sobbing, I sit-down on the family sofa, and with trembling hands pour myself a hefty shot of whiskey.to calm my nerves. Rereading the words they just seem to blend into each other like unintelligible squiggle. Where was she when her Dad had needed her the most? Wiping away the tears, sniffing a big sob I reach down into the box that contains his personal effects.

A laugh escapes as hands touch my father s pride and joy, a ancient camera and a flood of memories escape back to the good times. There’s not much in the box, just her Dads wedding ring and battered cheap watch. And buried deep under a stack of utility bills I spy the book that will hopefully give some peace to ease the pain of regret.

Almost dropping the book with shaking hands I sit down with my whiskey and start to read the shabby pages on my lap.

Monday 10th March

Hi, I’ve never been a fan of personal journals, seems too much trouble and always afraid of what i write somebody would read on the sneak and hold me ransom. Not that there’s many people left after Debbie took Ruth and hightailed it across to the other side of the world leaving me with a stack of bills and a hefty 4 bedroom house to maintain. But the main reason I started writing is that I’m scared to death and my boss at work at an informal friendly chat about the possible sign pf the big C. Why do us humans always look on the bright side of life.

Let me explain, today Monday started like any other. The endless queues, sun struggling to show; bird singing. Sounds perfect and all the time I had to remember I had to go to the doctors, a waste of time and effort. I’m your typical male, we don’t need the doctor we just go on til we drop yeah? All that was wrong was that my grip on my right arm wasn’t right. Now I’m sitting alone looking at the paperwork right in front of me in black and white. Parkinson’s - What you need to know. I staggered home, people shrinking away from thinking i was drunk or taking something heavy.

The Doctor knew straight away; almost like i had it stenciled on my head. Its all in the walk. But i get better won’t I? I sounded like a broken record. There is surly a cure it is the 21st century after all, the questions spiraling around my head. Ali the greatest fittest boxer had this and look how it destroyed him. Almost reluctant he spelled it out to me.

‘I’m afraid at the moment there isn’t, but there a lot of drugs that help and remember it is a progressive disease so time on your side but it be tough.

There’s always hope i said

But remember you are an ill man and need to look at life differently he replied. That’s why I’m doing this diary.

I said to the Doctor I’ll feel fine, never been better. This is just the beginning he said from the comfort of the big comfortable office chair, twinging his brimmed glasses like a B movie villain. . The beginning of the end I muttered as tried to grip what had happened to me. I hadn’t even remembered to ask ‘Will I die?’ but that seemed relevant now.

Tuesday 11th March

I was lucky Tuesday was my day off. I woke up with a sore head and looked at my right hand, which even with the curtains shut I could see was shaking like a blender on speed.

Going downstairs i poured myself a coffee, careful of not using my right hand otherwise the cat would have it that is if i had a cat. Then i decided the day didn’t offer any incentive with the heavy rain hitting the window.

Wednesday 12th March.

Woken up by the shrill bleating o the phone. Nobody uses that line anymore, only cold callers and sparrows who nestle from the rain. I already rung work up and explained I’ll be off work for a couple of days. They said that they understood. After a few moments a loud authoritative voice boomed from speaker downstairs.

This is a call for a Mr Stephen Jackson from Silver town Hospital. An appointment has been made for you for 2 pm this afternoon for preliminary checks. Please can you let us know if we need to possibly send an ambulance if you are unable to attend. That’s when it hit me the first time i was being labeled as disabled person.As I got to the hospital i realized that there were some advantages of being disabled, for me I was in for the free car parking and good seats at the footy. Sorry I’m being flippant, but its how I feel, really scared. and when I’m scared i try to laugh it off.

After a number of tests, which included umpteenth blood tests with sharp pain, and why do they say now this won’t hurt a bit, when it does.

Had an MRI scan; felt that i was riding the atmosphere in a lunar module. They poked and prodded me and I’m proud to say we have the best Health service in the world. They thought at the time i had a stroke which would have been better. Go out with a big bang rather then struggle and smile at everyone thinking that That’s good with the world. As I drove home i realized how lonely and sad i had become.

I imagined you running past into the evening rain dancing, your world as innocent as freshly sprinkled snow.

‘Oh Dad, i never knew. Mum said you didn’t want us I cry as I read.. Carrying on I flick few weeks on almost in haste to get the images of you alone and suffering out of my mind. Speed reading it was almost April before I find out that you had an appointment with a neurologist.

April 1st Monday.

Great day to spend visiting the neurologist at the local town. The person i first see is a bloke that looks more like a scientist with wild hair and white coat. The meeting goes well and we have a good repoar. The future and destiny are already mapped out but if i keep active i can lead a good life for decades but i need to look after myself. At that meeting it is the first time i feel positive, that i can beat this. That’s the first time that i hear about (DBS) a rapidly growing not cure but lessen the the symptoms. Just not frilled to have some stranger drilling into my head while I’m awake.

. Oh my God I think, what you must have been going through, I can’t imagine. Then turning the pages I utter a gasp as my eyes find Dads Christmas entry. I can’t think how hard it must have been to be alone with your pain while outside the world is oblivious to your suffering.

December 25th

Nobody tells you about the side affects of drugs. ,Not hard drugs like hash or methane or crack but pills that are supposed to and generally do their job, but forget to tell you them side affects

Hats the first time i really noticed my balance, or should I say lack of it. I hadn’t touched the bottle for ages but felt like a drunk as i climbed the stairs this evening. Its a horrible feeling not being in control of your own legs. Another thing i noticed is my loss of smell, mind-you that’s a good thing looking at what I’ve cooked in the oven for Christmas dinner . I hope where you are baby your having a lovely time.

Jan 1st

New year new beginnings and a chance to start again. Lucky I’m enjoying writing stuff down. The pills are starting to work, just concerned with some of the side effects - keep getting strange dreams and Hallucinations. I’m sure I saw my Ruth looking though the kitchen window. And the falls are getting worse, I almost fell down the stairs last night. Think this is still going to be a good year even through I’ve somehow got this disease within me.

I feel proud of my dad, being so positive when just round the corner lurks something so evil in the form of a deadly virus from China. Being alone and naive and vulnerable its no wonder he was the first to succumb to the deadly disease. With hesitate hands I can only hope that the end was quick because he’d suffered enough by reading his daily reports.

March 7th

I woke this morning feeling like crap. Making breakfast nearly burning myself in the process i sit and can only sit and watch how the world is collapsing due to this virus transmitted from abroad. Because I’m vulnerable I have to shield, but something tells me it too late.

March 8th.

I can’t get out of bed, my whole body aches. Gasping for air I truly think that this might be the end. I don’t know how……………………

I should be getting ready for a rest after such a long flight but know now its not too late to get the hospital. But after reading this I’m racked with guilt of not being there with him. How scared he must have been when COVID first appeared.How scared to have been one of the most vulnerable. I’ve decided I’m going tonight, because tomorrow may never come.

Clutching the journal with trembling hands I grab my handbag and phone and order a cab to the hospital.

Its bedlam when I reach the hospital. The nurses and Doctors who are already stretched are flying and trying to keep calm amid what is chaos. Alarms are blaring, people are dressed totally in what appears deep sea gear are pushing patients around already crowed corridors.

I ask at the main desk as calmly as I can about my Dad. I realize that this poor girl must be exhausted just nodding her head, just tying to stay positive and professional in eye of madness. I’ve come a long way I say, my voice barely a whisper as I try to stem the tears back.

Some stranger grabs me with comforting arms as I nearly sway over. Leading me to a seat where an old man vacates to let me breathe. Kindness still alive even in these crazy times I think to myself as someone passes me a cup of water.Realizing that I’ve not eaten since the plane, and I haven’t helped by drinking that scotch.

Overhead a screen depicts the Prime minister issuing severe warning to everyone to stay at home.

As I’m lead almost dreamlike into a room where I’m gowned up for my protection I wish I had been here sooner, then all this would be gone away. I’m led to a side room where there suddenly there is a hush. Somewhere in the distance a siren is going off. In the background I hear people talking and the hiss of machinery. Here I can hear myself think. That’s when I see my Dad for the last time, laying alone like a husk of his former self on a bed. He’s still wearing the breathing apparatus which I gently pull to one side and I delicately kiss his stone cold mouth for the last time.