Dylan

In the early hours of Saturday 7th March, Dylan, our dad, died peacefully at home surrounded by his family and so much love. 

To continue the story from his last post, he was eventually sadly diagnosed with bowel and liver cancer on 15th January and was immediately admitted to hospital. As you can imagine, he was not happy about this at all, and he managed a few days before he eventually discharged himself and went home. 

At this time, we were told that that there might be an option for treatment. 

 

On 4th February, World Cancer Day, with dad’s health still declining, we took him to a meeting with the consultant, and our worlds fell apart. The consultant told us that dad was too unwell for any treatment and that, at best, he had a couple of months to live. Being in that room was one of the most heart-breaking things I’ve ever had to do. 

We took dad home with some steroids prescribed by the consultant, which gave us some of the most precious times together as a family. We laughed a lot, we talked a lot, friends and family spent time with dad and I heard family stories that I had never heard before and that I won’t share in public for legal reasons! 

Ben stayed with dad overnight almost every night and they watched ALL the sports and a lot of fishing videos on YouTube. Despite dad’s deteriorating health, they were some good times, as good as they could be anyway. 

As time went on, dad’s condition inevitably got worse and as a family we all did our best to never leave his side. Me, Ben, Debbie and dad’s brothers, Tim and Simon formed a formidable team, alongside the amazing urgent care nurses, the GP and a few other medical professionals. We provided around the clock care, and I don’t really know how we did it. Was it hard? YES! It really was one of the hardest things we’ve ever done. Was it chaotic? Of course, at times! But it was dad’s wish to die at home in his own bed, and that’s what we enabled him to do. 

Dad’s fascination with the natural world never left him, I walked in one afternoon to see him smiling because he’d just seen a merlin fly over his house. He was able to tell me that I had seen a marsh harrier on my way to visit him, just from my very bad description, and he was able to tell me that the croaking creature in my pond was actually a toad and not a frog, just from listening to a sound recording I made. Dad’s knowledge of the natural world was encyclopedic, it was so deep it was part of his soul, and I know that it’s something that we will all profoundly miss every single day. But it’s also something that I will be eternally grateful for.

From the moment we could venture outside, dad instilled his love of nature in me and Ben. Growing up with Dylan as your dad was not your average childhood, as you can imagine. We spent a lot of time wandering through woodlands listening to bird calls and looking at butterflies and insects. We sat by lakes watching to see the ends of the fishing rods flicker, we waited on the Dunstable Downs at dusk to see the badgers poke their heads out of their sets and wander off into the darkness, and a whole lot more. 

 

At other times dad would bring the wildlife into the house for us to see, I remember one night when I was about 5, I woke up to find my dad sitting on the end of my bed with a snuffling hedgehog he had found in the garden! He just wanted me to see it. 

This blog was so special to our dad, and us and to you I hope, that we didn’t want it to end here on such a sad note. And so, with dad’s permission, and when we have had some time to grieve and process what has just happened, Ben, myself and Evelyn, my 12-year-old daughter (Dylan’s granddaughter), will be sharing our own wildlife experiences with you all on this blog. Ben will focus mostly on his fishing exploits, dad has left him a challenge, and Evelyn and I will write about the wildlife that we are lucky to be surrounded by at home, as well as our experiences with the moth trap that we have just inherited. It won’t be the same as before, they are some highly talented boots to fill, but we will do our best to continue the work that Dylan so passionately created. 

 But for now, I will leave you with a short snippet from The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe, a book that dad used to read to me at bedtime when I was little. 

‘Oh, children, children, why are you following me?’ 

‘We couldn’t sleep,’ said Lucy – and felt sure that she need say no more and that Aslan knew all they had been thinking. 

‘Please may we come with you – wherever you’re going?’ said Susan. 

‘Well -’ said Aslan, and seemed to be thinking. Then he said, ‘I should be glad of company tonight.

Yes, you may come, if you promise to stop when I tell you, and after that leave me to go on alone.’

‘Oh, thank you, thank you. And we will,’ said the two girls. 

 Forward they went again and one of the girls walked on each side of the Lion. But how slowly he walked! And his great, royal head drooped so that his nose nearly touched the grass. Presently he stumbled and gave a low moan. 

 

‘Aslan! Dear Aslan!’ said Lucy, ‘what is wrong? Can’t you tell us?’ 

 

‘Are you ill, dear Aslan?’ asked Susan. 

‘No,’ said Aslan. ‘I am sad and lonely. Lay your hands on my mane so that I can feel you are there and let us walk like that.’ 

And so the girls did what they would never have dared to do without his permission, but they had longed to do since they first saw him – buried their cold hands in the beautiful sea of fur and stroked it and, so doing, walked with him. And presently they saw that they were going up the slope of the hill on which a stone table stood. They went up at the side where the trees came furthest up, and when they got to the last tree (it was one that had some bushes about it) Aslan stopped and said, ‘Oh, children, children. Here you must stop. And whatever happens, do not let yourselves be seen. 

And both girls cried bitterly…and clung to the Lion and kissed his mane and his nose and his paws and his great, sad eyes. 

Then he turned from them and walked out onto the top of the hill. 

Night night dad, sleep tight. Love you.   

Sarah and Benno. XX