On Monday morning at 7:05, after a night during which he was in some pain, and a visit from the doctor to give an injection to ease it, the adored husband of Younger Daughter and utterly devoted father to the two little girls who feature here so often gave up an unequal struggle against cancer. He died at our home, with his mother and wife close by.
Not that we knew it was cancer until very recently. Other problems had been causing pain and discomfort, but the actual cause turned out to be a particularly virulent version. Once the correct diagnosis had been made, we knew the severity, but all of us, including Trevor, still held up hopes for a successful fight. How quickly the end came has been a severe shock.
The funeral was this morning. Friends and relations had come from all over the country to attend, and the church was packed. Sister-in-Law (after her Sunday shortcut downstairs) managed to put in an appearance, hobbling and wearing dark glasses to hide her black eye. Younger Daughter, with a staunch friend to hold onto in need, gave a lovely and eloquent tribute. Another came from Trevor’s sister, and his boss was emotional in saying how much Trevor would be missed in the company both as M.D. of the Durban branch and as a friend and confidante to everyone.
As can be imagined, the week has been one of turmoil, and it will be hard to adjust to a future without Trevor. He has shared a roof with us from the time he won Younger Daughter over, and in fact he and YD were in sole charge of that roof for two years while Much Better Half and I went on a mad adventure in the Midlands. We have worked together on various projects as a good team, and played together amicably, even if I didn’t quite share his passion for cars or he my passion for yachts. Unfortunately our main shared passion – wildlife – wasn’t held quite to the same extent by MBH and YD
His two little darlings are bearing up well, but with the occasional heartbreaking wobblies. Those are inevitable when suddenly someone who was such an amazingly dedicated father is no longer there. Little J, in particular, has spells of saying repeatedly, ‘I want my daddy,’ which of course gets to all of us.
Now we have to pick up the pieces and put them together again into the best possible pattern. That is going to be a challenge – with a major one missing completely, and another (our home) replaced by a smaller and unsuitably-shaped substitute.