Spread the word
My Dad is Dying
As I write this, my dad is dying in the next room.
The man who helped in my conception. The man who was strangled at my birth by my grandmother, as she screamed out "Brian, it's a girl! It's a girl!" The man who watched my first steps, heard my first words, held my hand as I entered the school playground for the first time, carried me to hospital and held me down while I had my first stitches. The man who inculcated my passion for nonsense, and introduced me to "The Triantiwantigongolope" and "The Geebung Polo Club." The man who seemed to make the world a place of laughter, delight and surprise, making my friends exclaim in envy "Your dad is COOL." The man who helped start my passion for guitar with The Shadows.
The man that grew distant as I entered adolescence, because he didn't know how to interact with a person who was becoming a young woman. The man that I fought with and rebelled against, but who always welcomed me back, again and again, no matter how badly I behaved. The man who refused to stop searching for me when I ran away, not resting untill he knew that I was safe. The man who encouraged my dreams and kept on picking me up, despite how many times he saw me falter and fall ... and I fell, often.
The man who I pick up, now that he is no longer able to do so himself.
Who is he? So much more than mere words could ever define, so much more than memories can ever encapsulate. I could type forever, and still find it an impossibility to define him or his life. I could cry a river, and still not have enough tears for the immense loss that seems to be approaching swifter than expected.
I am so grateful to have the opportunity to be with him at this time.
Your dad was a complete one-off, a lovelier person I have yet to meet. He
didn't have one nasty bone in his body. He was beautiful.
