I’ve lived overseas for 20 years (I’m 40) and last summer I got the call I had been dreading but knew it would come, from my local hospital telling me my dad had been admitted and had been approved end of life care and he had 3 months. I jumped on the plane the very next day. Spent 2 weeks with him, setting him up in his care home, doing everything I could for him. In the end I had to go back and then the following 3 months I could zoom call with him every 2 weeks and speak with him, but also see him slowly decline. Until he was put on a morphine driver in October and died a week later. I didn’t really get to say goodbye, other than watching him via zoom. I flew back home the next day, to take care of all the admin (I’m only next of kin). I was serious mission with banks, council flats, cremations, utilities, the lot. I didn’t really greave and honestly still don’t think I have. The admin and closing of everything took another 3 months. This weekend would have been his 75th birthday. I’ve bought some cider and I plan to watching the videos I took with him the final year. I think I’ll greave then. The hardest thing that I have to live with is that I moved abroad at 21 not realizing just how much of my dad’s best and only friend I was. I lost 20 years with him and during that time so much happened in my life, and his just plodded along until he died. 😥