I thought when people spoke about out of body experiences, it was a load of crap. But I understand now. I stood there, not believing the situation I was in, wanting to pinch myself to realise it was only a bad dream. But it wasn’t. I stood next to him in his bed, that man, my father, Dad. A man I have hated and loved. A man I have not seen for over ten years, a stranger, unrecognisable yet so familiar. A man who was once my hero, a man who had hurt me like no one else has, a man who had let me down. A realisation overwhelmed me that even in dying my Dad could still hurt me, the answers would not come, closure was not coming. In dying my Dad was still the man he had been. I stood there, feeling alien, numb, yet filled with pity and regret. I could not say I forgive you, despite a part of me wanting to. “It’s OK.” Those were the words I could give that day. My Dad’s reaction, the look in his eyes, the holding of my hand, told me those words were enough. To this day I still don’t know what I meant with those words, I hope one day I will. I am left knowing that this is not how it should be, but it is how it is. I was, I am, grieving for the Dad I loved, the man dying in front of me, the relationship we once had, the relationship it still should be. Death is a funny thing.