It’s been a seriously challenging week for me, I suspect one I will remember for the rest of my life.
My Father was diagnosed with cancer last Summer and since then has been undergoing chemo-therapy and radio-therapy at the Royal Surrey Hospital. It’s been a tough few months for him and our family, many ups and downs, twists and turns but on balance we’ve witnessed a gradual decline in his health and fitness since then. Unfortunately, the cancer spread from its original (fairly insignificant) source to many parts of his body and characteristically proved incredibly difficult to eradicate once distributed. Ironically his treatment completely nailed the original tumor, but, his un-corrupted DNA was not the winner in this battle, genetic luck was not on his side and the mutated cells had already metastasized into the lymphatic system, organs and bones, and started destroying other critical parts of his body. My dad was a very tough man, he gritted his teeth and hung on, and hung on, enduring much pain and discomfort, his fortitude was admirable but eventually it was too much. On Wednesday morning the disease finally overwhelmed him, he died just as the Sun rose above the South Downs, bursting through the windows of sleepy Surrey villages including his own, it was the last thing his senses registered, aged 75 years.
It still feels strange. I can’t quite believe my Dad isn’t here anymore. No longer available for questions about feeding roses or advice about leaking roofs, diagnosing mechanical breakdowns or views regarding the preferable vintages of a particular French wine. He’s no longer going to call me at the most inconvenient moments to talk him through the configuration of yet another mysteriously stubborn printer, wireless router or “smart” television or grill me about how my own Son is getting on at school. I’m going to miss him in many ways, as all of us will, he had a big personality, a big heart and has left an even bigger hole in all our lives.
His life was amazing, I am immensely jealous of it. I wouldn’t say he was a man who trod lightly on our planet, but, from very humble beginnings he achieved much in his all too brief spell in the light. He visited 4 out of the 5 continents, lived on 3 of those for extended periods of time and had traveled to more countries than most people ever do in a lifetime before he was 35. He worked in the petrochemical business for many years climbing the greasy corporate pole from pipe-fitter thru engineer up to project manager and engineering director, overseeing capital projects to build vast processing plants and manufacturing facilities in some wonderfully out of the way places. His knowledge of how to find a decent meal and a beer in pretty much every country and city that you’d ever imagine going to (and some that you wouldn’t) was encyclopedic.
He was the ultimate “fixer”, someone who seemed to be able to communicate in any language, culture and situation, make friends and get a result whenever and whatever the requirement was, hotel room, hot meal, last seat on the bus or on one occasion a pair of Women’s tights in the middle of the Moroccan desert (to substitute for a broken fan belt!) In the twilight of his career he switched to civil engineering and worked for the big electricity companies building power-stations, again, this took him (and Mum) to far flung places, they lived in Singapore for a few years and traveled extensively around South-East Asia. I remember visiting for a holiday back in 1998 and marveling how well they had adapted to life in that part of the world, he was equally at home playing snooker in the “British Club” in Singapore as he was chowing down with Bangladeshi construction gangs on remote building sites in the South China Sea, and probably far happier doing the latter.
He was also a great story-teller, always possessing a rich tapestry of tales to tell over dinner; tales that got richer and richer with each telling and each glass of red wine. I remember with great fondness the tale of the frozen fish-fingers in Hyderabad or pissing on scorpions in the Western Desert or diving on a wrecked WW2 bomber in Cumbria among many others. Even remembering these tales now I’m slightly terror-struck with the thought that from this point onward their resolution will only diminish, perhaps I should try and write them down before they’re gone forever.
I have to be honest, I’m not looking forward to his funeral much, in my experience funerals are usually sad and full of regret, tearful affairs that seem to slow down time and extrude the pain even further. Perhaps they're necessary, a kind of bad-tasting medicine that aids the healing, I'd like to believe that, but many I've attended seemed slightly self-indulgent on the part of the living, maybe that's the point of them too. That said though, I am looking forward to the party afterwards! It’s going to be wonderful catching up with his old colleagues and friends from across the decades, people I can only vaguely recall from my childhood and yet shared many pivotal moments with. Perhaps we will recount some of his great tales together, tales from the halcyon days of his life, living and working in far-flung jungles, deserts or cities. I'm hoping that we'll be able to enjoy a good belly-laugh together, bookend a stunning life and raise a toast to memories of happier times.
Whatever we do, he's going to be sorely missed.
