Lost my dad

[nay77]

On the 20/11/2025 my father had a COPD episode. He had been suffering with this disease for 5yrs & I was the main person that cared for him & woke at godly hrs to call an ambulance & help him till they arrived. So on 20 November at 420am I woke to him struggling to breath in the toilet. I rand 000 & ambulance was on its way. I hung up & then had to call back as he turned around, lifted the toilet seats, sat down closed his eyes stopped breathing & I couldn’t feel a heartbeat. I was on by to 000 by that stage & they asked if I could get him off the toilet to do CPR. I tried to lift him but he was so heavy. I yelled at him “Don’t you fucking dare, dad don’t please don’t”. The ambo team showed up as I was trying to support his body from falling. They got him off & into our spare room where they did everything to bring him back. They did & transported him to Caboolture Hospital. I was a mess & had to contact family. When he was moved to ICU we went up to be by his side. From that day we fought the hospital over his care & the lack of communication. We activated Ryans Rule so many times & had several meeting with staff over Dad’s care. We spent 8+ hrs every day by his side & helped with keeping him cool, talking to him, making staff aware of things that needed doing. The whole thing was frustrating & heartbreaking. My dad ending up passing away 2wks later after we make the hardest decision to let him go.
Since the situation happened in our home & no longer visit him in hospital I’ve really been struggling. I’ve had to see my doc to get sleeping medication but that isn’t helping at all after just one dose. I feel I failed my dad in not helping him & letting him know everything will be ok. I can’t get the visuals out of my head & his words saying ” this it is, im gone”. He has said that in the past but this time it became true. I don’t know if I’ll truly get past this as I will never know if he understood that I tried to help him but couldn’t. I feel so empty

Topic

[VM- VioletH]

Hi @nay77,
Thank you for sharing your story here. It’s understandable that the loss of your Dad has left you disoriented and heartbroken. You witnessed your father declining in front of your eyes, and having to be resuscitated, followed by hospitalisation. Often our mind protects us in the moments that we are in emergency mode and once the crisis is over the emotions start bubbling up to the surface.
Sleeplessness, numbness and emptiness are all common feelings for people after losing someone close to them. It sounds like you put everything into caring for your Dad, and were there advocating and caring for him right until the end.
Know that it’s okay to have all of these complex feelings but also allow time to care for yourself and your daughter, as you go through this grieving journey together.
We are here for you.
There are some links below to resources on the Griefline website that you might find helpful when you’re ready.
5 strategies for coping with grief
Grief and Loss for Children and Adolescents

[VM_Pinnacle]

Dear nay77,

I am really sorry for the loss of your dad, and for everything you went through trying to save him. Being the one who found your dad struggling to breathe, calling for help, trying to lift him, begging him not to go, all those moments are things no one should have to carry alone. You were not only his carer for those years together, you were there for him right up until the very end, giving your best aned doing everything you possibly could in an impossible situation. It’s completely understandable that the intensity of that morning are still replaying in your mind. Anyone in that siuation would be very deeply affected.

The emptiness, the guilt, the sleeplessness, and the feeling that you “failed” him are very valid responses after a sudden loss like this. Your mind is trying to make sense of something that was chaotic, frightening, and completely out of your control. The inability to stop what was happening does not mean you failed him. COPD is a cruel, progressive illness, and what happened was not because you didn’t try hard enough. The way you fought for his care, spent hours by his side, advocated for him, talked to him and everything else you did all speaks to your profound love and devotion to him. You gave everything and that shines through from reading your post. Feeling haunted by whether he knew you were trying is such a painful part of grief, but from what you’ve shared, your dad experienced years of your care and presence. That matters more than any single moment, no matter how intense that moment was.

Right now, it may help to gently remind yourself that you don’t have to know right now whether you’ll ever fully “get past” this. For many people, grief doesn’t disappear, but instead it slowly becomes something different, something that can be carried with less pain. For now, it’s enough to take things one day, or even one moment, at a time. Please know that you are welcome to keep sharing here on the forums or even contact the Griefline helpline on 1300 845 745 if you feel you need a voice to talk to about your dad, about the memories that hurt, or about the love you had for him. You don’t have to hold all of this inside.

Your dad mattered. Your care mattered. And you matter too, especially now, when everything feels so empty.

[VM-Daisy]

Dear nay77,
The moment you describe waking to find your father struggling to breathe, making that desperate call to emergency services, the frantic blur of CPR attempts and hospital transfers, that’s the kind of trauma that stays with you. And I want to acknowledge something important: in that chaos, you didn’t freeze. You acted. You advocated. You stayed.
What stands out to me is the weight of those 8+ hours by his bedside in ICU; the exhaustion of keeping vigil, the frustration of navigating communication gaps with staff, the helplessness of watching someone you love deteriorate despite everything you’re trying to do. And then the unbearable choice: letting him go. Two weeks later, after all that fighting.
I hear the particular pain in what you’re carrying now: not just the loss of your dad, but the guilt that maybe you didn’t do enough, the emptiness of the space he left, the haunting uncertainty about whether he knew you were trying to save him. That doubt, that “what if he didn’t understand,” is one of the cruelest parts of sudden crisis and loss.
The insomnia, the intrusive images you can’t shake, the emptiness that keeps pulling you back to that moment that you are experiencing right now are human responses to a traumatic loss. Your mind and body are trying to process something overwhelming: the sudden reversal from conversation to crisis, the intensity of those hospital days, the weight of decision-making, and then the absence.
It’s completely understandable that seeing your 8-year-old daughter struggling with her own grief is compounding your pain. You want to protect her, to give her comfort, but you’re grieving too. That’s a tender, difficult place to be. The complexity of that relationship with your dad, the love-hate dynamic she had with him, doesn’t make your loss any smaller. It just makes it more complicated to hold.
The guilt you’re describing, feeling like you failed him, that he may not have understood your efforts, it is something many people who’ve been present at someone’s end-of-life experience carry. But what I want you to know is this: your presence mattered. Even if he couldn’t speak it back to you, even if you’ll never know for certain that he understood, you showed up. You fought. You stayed with him. That is love made visible, and that has weight.
Your grief needs permission to exist, even as you try to be strong for your daughter and move forward with your life. Right now, things are shifting: your routine has changed, your role in your family has shifted, and you’re navigating multiple losses at once.
Some things that might help:
For your own healing: Please reach out to Griefline’s helpline (1300 845 745) when you need to just say these things out loud: the guilt, the images, the uncertainty. Speaking your grief to someone trained to listen can help break the cycle that keeps you awake at night. Consider also whether a counsellor who specialises in grief and trauma might help you process not just the loss, but the circumstances of it.
For your daughter: Children grieve differently, and what looks like “no emotion” or avoidance is often how young minds protect themselves. She may need space to express her grief on her own timeline, and she may need reassurance from you that it’s okay to feel mixed things about her grandfather. Continue talking with her age-appropriately, and don’t be discouraged if she doesn’t mirror your grief right now.
For the relationship with her father: This grief is real and separate from those ongoing stresses. You don’t have to solve those issues right now. Right now, you’re allowed to just grieve.
Honouring your dad: The wake you’re planning sounds like a beautiful way to celebrate his life and give space for collective grief and remembrance. Those stories matter. Let people share them.
You don’t have to carry this alone. The emptiness you’re feeling is real, and it takes time; not just days or weeks, but months and seasons to adjust to it. That’s not weakness. That’s love. And you’re not failing your daughter by needing to grieve; you’re teaching her that loss is real and that we survive it, together.
Please reach out whenever you need to. You deserve support, and this community is here for you.

[nay77]

Thank you so very much for your message. I know will help me move on to a better place with the situation. My routine has now changed & that’s hard to deal with at the moment. My daughter(8yrs old) was here also & im struggling with her emotions over it. She hasn’t shown any real response with it, it’s like nothing has happened. I understand everyone deals with it in their own way but she hasn’t shed a tear. Expressed any sadness or any emotion from it. I need comfort & I can’t get it from my daughter & that’s making me feel even worse. She had a love hate relationship with my dad & I understand that, it just confuses me. I’m trying to move on with life for her but at times I just can’t as I need to grieve & she doesn’t understand that due to her age & I’ve tried to explain it as best as I can for her age. My daughter doesn’t have her father in her life (his choice) & there are issues I’ve got with him including a DVO & he does what he wants & when he wants. He is currently adding to my stress & I’m trying to not loose it.
Time will help me heal & I will do whatever I need to to make that process happen in honour of my dad.
We are having his wake on his bday to make it a celebration of his life & help us all grieve as well. I’m sure there are many stories he has out there & everyone will be able to share them with each other
I’m so grateful that I found this site to share my story & help with my grief

[vmv_68]

Hi @nay77,

I’m really sorry for the loss of your dad. Witnessing a parent’s health deteriorate, especially from the moment of hospitalisation, can be profoundly devastating. On top of that, having frustrating or inadequate staff support can add another layer of distress when you were already carrying so much.

The shock, pain, insomnia, flashbacks, and that sense of emptiness you describe are all very real and very human responses to loss. They are part of how your mind and body try to process overwhelming stress and sadness. Grief needs space, to be felt, to be expressed, and to be heard, and there is no “right” way or timeline for that.

From what you’ve shared, it’s clear you did everything you could for your dad: staying with him, acting quickly, being present, and trying to keep him alive until help arrived. I know it may not always feel that way from where you’re standing, but I hear the depth of your care and effort. Even in his suffering, your dad would have felt your presence and your love, and that matters deeply.

Please know you don’t have to carry this alone. Griefline is here to support you (whether through a phone call, 1300 845 745, or by continuing to share in this forum) so you can speak your grief out loud, at your own pace. It’s understandable if it feels hard to imagine feeling better right now, but I gently invite you to give yourself time, space, and support, and to notice how things shift gradually over time.

You’re not alone in this.

[Author]

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