My Dad died and I'm despairing

My Dad died 48 hours ago after five weeks in hospital. Cancer. But it was more traumatic because we thought he was early stage and it turned out he was end stage, so we were working towards getting him discharged, and instead he went downhill fast just as we thought we were close to this goal. That was so hard. It's like he was snatched away from us just as we were going to get him back.

I am completely heart broken and spiralling. He and I had been distant for years and struggled to connect in my adult life because of my late diagnosed autism, and my tendencies expressing themselves more strongly as I got older. The thing is, he was autistic in some way, as well, but this didn't create common ground for us, it created friction. That is a complicated story that I won't go into, now. I will just say that over the past six months there had been a thaw in the ice and our relationship was beginning to reset. Then, when he went into hospital a month ago, it began a deeper reset and I spent a couple of weeks building him a convalescence room in the spare room, and visted for hours every day, and spent a lot of time talking to nurses and doctors to try to keep things moving and motivate progress: to advocate for him, because he was always bad at advocating for himself.

But now he's gone, and it was so hard. They never got around to taking a biopsy (which we pushed for, but mistakes were made which kept causing delays and his fitness declined too much). We were with him for his last night, right to the end, even then having to argue for him because we knew he was dying and needed the "good" drugs that only hospices use, but the staff still thought he might recover and be discharged!

He spent five weeks on a ward, in that noise and discomfort, constantly sleep deprived, constant discomfort on those horrible mattresses, dealing with infection induced by an endoscopy (whoch they did instead of the biopsy, and because of the infection, they could never go back and biopsy).

He spent all those weeks in that hell, not at home or at least in a hospice, and I feel so horrible and desperately sad for him that this was how he spent his last weeks. And I feel so guilty because I took him in to hospital, but I never brought him out! I never brought him out. And I couldn't protect him from the mistakes they were making. I tried! But every day it was a new doctor, never any continuity of care, and I had to start again with that new doctor.

He went in and he never came out, and I've lost my dad just as we were getting back together and I'm so utterly broken and frustrated and desperate. I need him more than I knew, and for so many years I pushed him away, and just as this started to change, he was stolen! He was taken away!

I need help but I don't know where to go.