My Dad passed away suddenly last Tuesday.
My Dad was not the sort to dwell on sadness so I won't either. My favourite poem sums him up well.
I thought it might be nice to do a blog post for him and include the eulogy I wrote for his funeral. In retrospect there is a lot more I could say but I hope it does him justice. A special thank you to Dad's dear friend Richard for reading it for me. Dad is gone but not forgotten. He leaves behind my sister Laura & I; his grandson Ben; granddaughter Ava; his girlfriend Bonnie; his parents Ian and Marion ; his 3 sisters Louise, Lois & Lisa; his Niece Lauren; Nephew Joe & more friends than I can count!
July 1st 1955 - October 1st 2013
My Dad and I are very alike. We are both a little bit silly and a little bit selfish. Right now I’m very glad he was that little bit selfish. Knowing he lived the life he wanted is the thing that makes me smile through all the horrible things this week has brought. He talked about moving to France as far back as I can remember. He loved the country and its wonderful eccentricities. After all he was a man of wonderful eccentricities. Whether it was his multiple collections of curiosities, his inability to cook meat all the way through or his fascination with outstandingly boring landmarks his little eccentricities made him who he was. They made him the Dad Laura and I loved.
I’ve never for a second doubted that my Dad loved me, he told me often enough. I think it’s important to say that all though we weren’t great at keeping in touch and that sometimes he made me roll my eyes enormously: I loved him.
He was kind. Kindness is my favourite quality in people. It’s the one that matters most. He was so very kind, which is clear from the sheer number of friends he had and the kindness they’ve shown us since his death.
My Dad is the reason I love music. He’s the reason I know every Queen song off by heart and the reason I’m teaching my daughter those same songs now. He’s also the reason I could roll cigarettes at 5 years old but the less we say about that (and his driving) the better. He’sthe reason I love rubbish British comedy, he called me Baldrick for the majority of my childhood (because I was always grubby and a little bit stupid). He was a chronic exaggerator but I love that. He made me laugh so often.
Honestly I doubt very much my Dad will hear this, he’s probably off on some jaunt to see a weird jazz band or a bad Freddie impersonator. But on the off chance any of this get’s through:
Dad thank you for making my life fun.
Thank you for teaching me the importance of a good song.
Thank you for sharing your love of geeky literature.
Thank you for every message you sent me when you knew I was feeling down.
I wish I could tell you in person, I love you!