Johan, my stepfather, lived in South Africa. We exchanged monthly family updates through the mail when I moved to America in the 70s. In the 90s we corresponded through faxes, emails and phone calls.

My mother wrote too, but infrequently, for our relationship carried much pain.

In late November last year I was concerned when I’d not heard from my Dad for awhile. He answered the phone. “I was about to call you,” he said with awe. “I’m coughing up blood. The doctor says I have lung cancer,” he stammered.

“Oh no!” I sobbed. My heart beat faster. Except for open-heart surgery in the early 80s my father had been healthy.

“The doctor will decide the course of treatment after more tests,” he continued. “Don’t make plans to come until we get the results,” he advised in his authoritative attorney voice. My father, age 77, had been a real-estate attorney for over 50 years.

Fortunately, Stefan, my half-brother and his wife Karin live nearby and help my parents. My brother and sister are my father’s biological children. My parents married when I was seven. I’m the oldest sibling by over a decade.

Since my mother has dementia and my father was her caregiver she was unable to help.

I emailed my brother and sister that I was heartbroken about my Dad’s diagnosis and that I would come to South Africa to help. My brother called the next day. “We don’t have the results - Dad’s in the hospital,” he said in a voice edged with tension. “He had a stroke as we drove to the doctors office to get his test results,” he moaned.

My brother said my father had lost the use of his right arm and was incontinent. However he was fine mentally and could walk with a walker. The doctors did not recommend cancer treatment till his health stabilized.

“I’m going to cancel my trip to America next month,” Stefan said in a tense voice. “Dad and Mom come first.”

Stefan and his wife and three teenage boys were scheduled to take a three-week tour of America. His oldest son was graduating from high school and this was their last chance to vacation together. The money was non-refundable.

My Dad, sister and I told my brother to take the trip. My sister and I could take care of my parents while he was gone. Since my Dad seemed to be improving from the stroke my brother reluctantly agreed.

My sister flew to South Africa to help my brother the first week. However, she was my parent’s sole support for the second. Having only the use of his left arm my Dad needed assistance with most everything. Since my mother had memory problems she too needed help with meals and house maintenance.

When Bud, my husband and I arrived my sister and brother had placed my father in a Step Down Facility nearby for specialized care. Our duties included providing meals, house maintenance and support for my mother and daily visits and aid to my Dad.

Because of past conflicts I was nervous about looking after my mother. To minimize problems my brother graciously recommended we stay in his nearby home.

Bud and I were stunned when my Dad’s doctor said his lung cancer was inoperable and that he only had six months to live. The doctor did not recommend chemotherapy or radiation.

My Dad was dressed in a blue shirt and shorts and sat on top of his bed when we visited. He was cheerful and mischievous as always. We had 11 days of good talks and even played checkers. We loved hearing the stories of the many people who visited and whose lives he had touched.

Since Bud had not been to South Africa we visited other relatives and friends and toured the Indian Ocean coast when my brother returned.

My brother moved my father back home and hired Victoria, a full time nurse.

We were devastated to see my Dad looking pale and withered when Bud, Barbara, a childhood friend, and I returned after two weeks.

When I stroked my Dad’s hair his unseeing eyes rolled back towards the ceiling. His rib cage rose and fell with every ragged breath.

“You’re a light in this world” I sobbed as I hugged his neck. “I love you!”

Tears welled up in my sister, Barbara’s eyes when she kissed my Dad. He had been like a father to her. “Your family is here it’s okay to let go,” she said quietly.

My Dad’s face relaxed and his body became still. He did not take another breath.

“He’s gone!” Victoria cried and called a doctor.

My father’s heart was still beating when my brother and Karin arrived. They too were in tears as they hugged his neck and said goodbye. Victoria and Bud’s eyes also brimmed with tears. My mother stood apart looking lost.

A powerful love for my Dad welled up inside me. My eyes brimmed with tears as I kissed my father one last time.

The doctor arrived to verify my father’s death a few moments later.

The 12 days with my mother were good. She only had one paranoid episode shortly after we arrived. She was open, upbeat, positive, appreciative and kind - qualities I’d not seen much before.

My mother’s dementia affected only certain brain functions such as short-term memory, the ability to count, deal with mechanical things, to speak and read. She took care of herself and the garden and listened to classical music. My Mom said repeatedly that she was sad about my Dad’s death and did not know how she was going to get by. We reassured her that my brother would help.

We stayed with my mother and took her to a nearby botanical garden the following day. Being around flowers, plants and water seemed to calm her down.

We feel deeply honored to have been at my Dad’s bedside when he made his transition. He stopped breathing 20 minutes after we arrived. The blessing is that my Dad died at home surrounded by family and friends.

Niki Collins-Queen is a retired Licensed Professional Counselor and the author of “Earth, the Forgotten Temple: A Spirit Quest in the Wilderness.” She can be reached at earth31029@yahoo.com or www.authorsden.com