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09.12.2009. 5.30am - The last call

Lung cancer, loss, trauma, remembering, bereavement support, building yourself back again


In memory of my Father

Istvan Pemmer (1951-2009)


This day, 11 years ago, at 5.30 in the morning, we got a phone call that my father passed away. My mum answered the phone and instantly knew what is going on. 4 hours before my dad was to come home from the hospital for end of life care. Since the summer, he had lung cancer, and we knew that the prognosis is really bleak and survival chances are almost nill. We were caught off guard with all this; he started to struggle to walk up the stairs.

We had months of preparing to this day. We had a couple of weeks when we were hopeful for new treatments and improvements; at one point, the transplant was on the table as well, but everything came crashing down soon after. We knew what will happen eventually, but somehow it was tough to process it when it came.


The process of dealing with the illness was difficult for everybody. It was hard to see an incredibly strong person physically and mentally deteriorate so quickly and see how the illness is taking over him and turning him into someone unrecognisable. These six months were a very long six months in my life. I was only 22, my dad was my rock, an indestructible role model who's done so much for people, so many of them loved him dearly. But this illness doesn't really care about your popularity, your behaviour, your family. If you are chosen, you are chosen.


I felt the rug was pulled from under me very quickly, I had to adapt to this changing world very swift. I wasn't exposed to death before in my life. We never really talked about it, even in my younger years. I wasn't allowed or advised to go to funerals if someone passed away in my family; children have no place in funerals. All of this was a very new scenario for me. And perhaps to deal with death when someone so close died was probably even more difficult. Coping with death is never easy. Dealing with the trauma caused by supporting someone who has a life-limiting illness can also be challenging.


From my own experience, this trauma I had to live through for months on end and even following the loss of my dad manifested in many different ways. One thing to remember, these are normal responses to extraordinary events, and by time, all of these eased and got better. Some remained for years, but with bereavement therapy, I was able to process feelings.


I had physical and behavioural symptoms of trauma, I lost my appetite, I was smoking a lot more until the day he passed away when I decided to quit. I wasn't sleeping; I was withdrawing from activities and snapped at people. I forgot things. Before all this happened, I was a very confident person, I was outgoing, I was doing well, but it changed. I developed low self-esteem and lack of confidence, and I was second-guessing my decisions. I felt this really bad guilt that I didn't tell him enough time how much I loved him. I felt guilty about my decision to say to my mum the night before that he was doing ok and he is coming home when I knew the end was really close. This 'little lie' was to help her; she was able to talk with him. I wanted her to remember him that way, and I just wanted to take the burden off her as she didn't see him the way I saw him a few hours later. I was feeling guilty about this decision for years, but looking back, I am not regretting it, because this was done from love and protection only.


Following his death, I had flashbacks about the events of the last six months, I sometimes relived the chats with the doctors, the collections of the results to take it back to the ward. Straight after we got the news, I went into this robotic mode of task completion, collect his stuff, go to the morgue, speak with the funeral directors. It is difficult to describe, but I didn't feel anything for a while; I was blocking emotions, I lived in a grey scale world. Months after everything was kind of back to normal, I started developing health anxiety and became extra vigilant with my body, with others around me who I loved. It went on for years until my daughter was around 11 months old when I sought professional help and by then, all of this unfinished and unresolved emotions turned into something a lot larger. Post-natal depression and generalised anxiety disorder, spiced with some PTSD. What helped a lot was contacting my GP, participating in different therapies, and trying to see the world in HD.


We can feel a range of emotions when we are losing a parent, a real mixed bag of emotions if you ask me.


The below are some from Cruse Bereavement;


Different feelings after a parent dies

  • As well as shock, grief or numbness, people often feel regret, guilt or anger. We may feel very differently from one moment to the next, and the feelings can often contradict each other. They may come upon us when least expected, which can be confusing and distressing.

  • We can feel lost after the death of a mother or father. Suddenly we may find ourselves feeling like a child again, even though we are adults with jobs, families and lives of our own.

  • Losing a parent may mean losing one of the people who thought we were the most special, and who loved us unconditionally. Alternatively, if we had a difficult or estranged relationship with a parent, we can feel a grief for what never was, or for a relationship, it is not now possible to heal.

  • The death of a parent can bring home the inevitability of our own death, and perhaps make it seem nearer than it was before.

  • The balance of generations changes when a parent dies. Before we were still someone’s child, now we can find ourselves the older generation and that can be a shock.

  • Losing a parent, or both parents, means we may also have lost a connection to our own childhood. We have lost someone who could talk to us about our own early years, and share memories in a way no-one else can. Source: Cruse Bereavement Service

Losing individuals around us can be increasingly difficult in the current lockdown and pandemic as we don't have as many opportunities to connect with others and share our grief with others, help and support each other in the processing of the loss.

It is more difficult at the moment to stay in touch with others, but here are some useful options to support yourself following the death of a parent;


Pick up the phone and talk to someone, use social media, Facetime, friends and your family, stay connected. If you are struggling and alone, your GP will be able to signpost you in the direction of external support, talking therapies.


It is important to remember the lost one. As my dad was our Santa, we always talk about the stories when children approach him in the shops with their wish list and talking about my mum and nana how good cooks they were. Initially, holidays were tricky, and sometimes we used balloons to remember them, other times we went for a walk and talked about them when my daughter was happy to listen to stories.


Friends were a bit part of the coping process, they showed empathy, listened when I needed them. They didn't force talking about what happened, but they were there to listen when needed.


Remember, children have their feeling about these losses, don't treat death with stigma. Open conversations can help them with processing.


What wasn't useful;

  • I know exactly how you feel (you don't really, people process death differently, we can't have exactly the same experience)

  • At least they had a happy life... (no matter how happy life one had, someone's loss is still a painful process. Empathy and listening can help others to heal)

  • Being shielded from death as a child might hinder coping and recovery in later life.


Support pages:



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