Dads

This has been a week that will remain with me probably for the rest of my life.

Dad has been ill. Very poorly. As the eldest of five siblings I have felt proud of the way in which each of his sons and daughters have rallied round together as our dad's health went first from bad to worse but, as I write today, has improved for the time being.

Dad has not seen a doctor for decades. Typically northern, shy and stubborn - every ailment would always heal itself. he is quite deaf - lame and had had stomach problems for some time.

And then, a week last Monday - it all happened. Liz, my sister, forced dad to visit the doctor, he was admitted to hospital with a moment's thought and, after a week of test after a test a touch and go operation followed on Wednesday night during which some of us I think feared the worse.

But dad is still here. Parched. Fed up. Not happy. Those postponed and put off visits to the doctor have caught up with him with a vengeance. The surgery should have cured what was wrong. The challenge now is to build up his strength and his weight to something like it was before. And it's going to be a long haul.

For many years now I have visited people who are sick and I have spoke to many of my contemporaries who have lost a parent, or both, sometimes with a nodding human acceptance that - well, it's normal, it's what happens.

But when you actually face such a tremendous shift in family love and concern head on - it's quite a sobering moment.

Thanks to everyone for their prayers and support.