Dad

Dad died sixteen years ago today.

The last time I saw him is worth mentioning here. It was two days before. The odd thing is I'm living a stone's throw away from where he passed on so it's a strange feeling being so close, yet so far.

I'd been up to Manchester that day with a mate, and bought some bits and pieces. Later on, I said to Mum I was going up to Fazakerley Hospital to see Dad. He was back in there, another relapse, it wouldn't have been anything unusual except I now had confirmed what I already knew - he was dying. We'd been told on the Thursday just gone.

He was in a ward room on his own on the ninth floor. That night, he was also being visited by his mate from the T.A, Steve, and we chatted amiably for a bit.

Steve got off and left me and Dad alone. I'd bought him a book from Manchester, the full, unabridged version of Douglas Adams' "Hitchhikers Guide To The Galaxy". It was a massive volume - a full 600-pages. He was just getting into reading all these sci-fi/fantasy books - Terry Pratchett's Discworld novels being a particular favourite.

I said to him, "there you go, something to keep you amused."

And I didn't click it at that time, but his reply summed up the reality he was facing - "I won't get through that, son."

I had to take a chair back to an adjoining room before I left, so I passed him again sitting upright in bed. I stood there at the doorway to this wardroom. I smiled at him, he smiled back at me.

It was the last time I saw him. Less than two days later he was having a chinwag with his maker.

The thing about death is there's very little you can do about it. You can't do that much for the dead, it's better to concentrate on the living. So I kept away from the aftermath, looking back probably wrongly.

Take care, Dad, wherever you are xxxxxxxx