I have been on this earth for 20,062 days. Today is the first day I draw breath without my father. Despite knowing this day was not only inevitable but imminent, I’m still consumed with grief. There’s no easy way to farewell the man that gave me life. The first man I ever loved and the one who set the bar so high for future love.

GORDON LINDSAY YEMM: 1933-2021

My father was the kindest, gentlest, most patient man you could ever know. He had a wicked sense of humour, a willing smile, an insurmountable capacity for understanding, love and forgiveness.

He showed a boundless love for his four children and six grandchildren. His eyes so easily brimming with tears of joy at proud moments. And instantly filling with tears of sadness when remembering the two children he buried. He had two long marriages to two beautiful women he loved with a passion. He was a man well-loved and admired by everyone he ever met.

His indelicate taste buds never met a meal they didn’t like. His bald head was always filled with cuts and bruises from beams and pot plants that were just a little lower than his head. He had a lifelong love of trading shares on the stock market – the thrill of a day’s gain or the disappointment of a loss entertaining him all his days.

His long, lean legs ran thousands of kilometres – up mountains, down valleys, across rivers, around and around and around athletic ovals.

MY FATHER GAVE ME MY LOVE OF MUSIC

He first passed me a piccolo when I was just eight years old. He showed nothing but pride for the musical career I pursued for forty years. And immersed me in a first-class teaching apprenticeship as I watched him mentor the thousands of young flautists who crossed the threshold of our home every week. Students who went on to become professional musicians the world over.

When his benign familial tremor heralded the end of his musical career he turned his eternally optimistic nature to painting. His walls are a gallery of creativity, touching upon all sorts of art styles and reflecting his quirky, deeply sensitive nature.

He had known nothing but excellent health his entire life but in 2012 required a multiple bypass operation. He was mystified that his vegetarian and athletic lifestyle hadn’t been enough to completely prevent a failing heart. You can’t argue with genetics.

IN 2019 MY FATHER WAS DIAGNOSED WITH METASTATIC MELANOMA ON THE LIVER

A great big lump of a thing that must have come from a skin cancer – probably obtained during his heady days of long-distance running without slip, slop slapping. He stayed positive and jumped into the immunostimulant therapy offered. It bought him a precious year of life. Towards the end of 2020, the therapy ended and he was given a second type of therapy which he responded to very badly.

In December 2020 dad was hospitalised with extreme colitis caused by the therapy. I’ve never witnessed such an awful thing. My beautiful, strong optimistic father, bedridden and desperate to be released from the terrible misery and suffering that ensued. Doctors and nurses looked almost as saddened and distressed as I did. Nothing they tried could alleviate his symptoms.

They arranged for him to be admitted to palliative care but just before he left they tried one last thing. By the time he arrived in palliative care, the one last thing was kicking in and within a week he became one of the very few people to walk out of the ward.

IT WAS THE MIRACLE I HAD BEEN PRAYING FOR

People near and far joined me in that prayer. My church put the prayer team to work. The last-ditch treatment bought him six amazing weeks with his family. Six weeks where we were so incredibly conscious of the fragility of the time that remained. And he bought himself a giant television with surround sound. We spent Christmas Day at his house, gave him a gold crown and made him king of the table, surrounded by loving family.

As the new year rolled around his body started to fail and all the bicep curls and leg raises in the world weren’t able to stop the degeneration of his dying body. On Monday 18 January he went back to palliative care. It was a heartbreaking decision as like most people, he wanted to die on his own terms in his own home. But moments come in life that ruin the best-laid plans.

Over the course of ten days, he slowly slipped away. He laughed and joked with family and friends and all the beautiful caring staff. His beautiful gentle nature so obvious to all, right up until the end. His walls papered with paintings and photographs, eliciting conversations of a lifetime of memories.

On Australia Day, Tuesday 26 January he slipped into a state of deep unconsciousness – not quite comatose but non-responsive. His eyes occasionally fluttered open and his foot still tapped to the music playing constantly by his side. As the day slipped by and Wednesday rolled around he was slipping away. His closest family stayed by his side and held his hand and kissed his forehead. I read him the last chapter of my book. I told him that tomorrow was mum’s birthday.

I’M SURE HE HELD ONTO THIS PIECE OF INFORMATION

I was tiring. I had been at the hospital since Tuesday morning and by Wednesday evening I was exhausted. I’d squeezed in three interviews for my book promotion while dad was just nearby. Every minute away from him filled with the fear he’d go without me being there.

Wednesday night rolled around then it was just dad and me. His breathing now shallow, slow and mechanical. His pulse weak. His hands cold. I could feel a quiet determination from deep inside that he would see it through to Thursday. At midnight I changed the date written on his mirror to Thursday 28 January 2021 – my mother’s birthday. I sent happy birthday thoughts to her in heaven.

I was completely exhausted so about 1:30am I climbed into bed and fell asleep for what felt like five minutes. Listening to the five-second breaths and the radio quietly playing in the background.

I HAD A NIGHTMARE

Filled with demonic spirits surrounding my father and me desperately filled with fear and making every valiant effort to push them away so I could protect him. It seemed endless. They wanted to take my beloved father and he was in a coma so I was screaming to get them away.

The dream ended and I woke at 2 am. The room was silent. I leapt out of bed in my underwear. His face now pale, smooth and brow unfurrowed. He looked completely at peace. No breath. No movement. Cold temple, warm arms. My father was gone. The man who watched me come into this world had left. And left with a joke – he died on my mother’s birthday. He would think that hilarious irony.

When I left on Monday, his last day of speech, I walked out the door, turned around and said, “I love you.” He looked at me and said, “I love you dear Simone.”

I KNEW I WOULD NEVER HEAR HIS VOICE AGAIN

It’s just one day later and I miss him so much. He’s released from his suffering but his loss is acute. I can’t imagine this world without him in it.