Hi folks, back again. Life is soooo hectic sometimes I really dont have time to do anything, so apologies to all who have come for a look and seen the same old stufff from last time.
Strange title really, but it refers to mine.
Today is his birthday.
Born in 1932 , that makes him 74 today…. well it would if he was still here. Unfortunately he died in 1981, after that old cliche, a short illness.
And by fuck it was short.
Taken ill just before Fathers day ( ironic isn’t it ), to dead July 12th. Cancer, of the brain, a brain tumour, a nasty insidious evil way for anyone to die. In less than 2 weeks I had lost my hero , my friend , my dad.
1981 was a strange time for all of us.
My mum and dad had temporaily separated, though it was looking permanent at the time, and indeed turned out to be so.
Dad had bought himself a flat not far away from the " family " domicile, and was struggling with the demands, both emotional and financial of the family, and of holding his career together, trying to see as much of us as possible, but without pressurising us into choices.
He had suffered from a slight paralysis of one side in early June, which the doctors thought was possilby a reaction to the stress of his personal life.
He was scheduled to have tests the week after Fathers Day, and I remember him going to a hospital in Northampton, where some clever and enterprising young intern suggested that this was not " hysterical Paralysis ", but had all the halllmarks of a brain tumour, and that he should be tested straight away.
They took him to the neurological hospital not far from here for the tests, and I went to see him on the Sunday. I hadn’t seen him for a week before that and I was devastated.
He looked like an old tramp, it was shocking, this dapper , educated , sophisticated , proud, professional man , the fuckers hadn’t even bothered to shave or wash him.
We got that sorted out, and after a wash & shave , he looked like a semblance of his former well self.
The results came through on Monday 29th June.
A shit day for 2 reasons.
It was a red hot day, sunny, dry, a beautiful english summer day.
I blew the engine on my fucking bike on the way home, and had to push the fucker 3 miles home.
Then the call… horrible.. just like a soap opera,
" Hello, I’m afraid they have found something… it’s a tumour.. a brain tumour."
"Will he die?"
" Yes….. I’m afraid so….."
"How long? "
"How long? "
Not long as it turned out, and the next 2 weeks just flew past in a flurry of hospital visits.
I was lucky really, at least I had the chance to tell him how I felt, what it meant to lose him,and to tell him how much I loved him.
It took fucking ages to be even able to think about him without bursting into tears. I was sitting in a pub one day just chatting, and the floods came on, I was so embarassed..blokes dont sit in pubs blarting.
Special mention must go here to 2 very good friends.
Jo, a special lady who saw me through so many low moments,desperately sad and emotional times, and without whose strength I probably would have lost it, and Brendan, a true mate, one of those friends who asks for nothing, but will give all he can, when he can.
The emotional scars of that summer are still with all of us one way or another.
Time IS a great healer.. well not a healer really, but as the time passes, memories are not so vivid, hurts not so sharp,emotions are tempered with age and understanding, but I still miss him sometimes, even now over 25 years later.
it’s a funny old life, in 7 months time I will be as old as my dad was when he died…. spooky!
I had some great times with my dad, funny, serious, angry.. but I loved him and still do.
i would have given anything to have swapped places with him at that time.
Enjoy your time with your parents, they are precious times that can never come back.
Gone is gone, until the next life?..
1981….. it was a shit year.