Tribute to Dad
Dad with Billy in Melbourne, March 2003 |
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Dad died unexpectedly aged 61 on the 14th March 2005. He had seemed fine even the day before he died, but caught bi-lateral pneumonia, and Dad, not having a spleen, didn't stand a chance. Dad was a top bloke. It was such a shock. I have been dealing with his death in a very bizarre way, -cracking jokes. It’s so weird. I am not comfortable doing it all the time. The first few days there was a lot of tears, but since then, it’s mainly been up-beat stories and fond memories. The funeral went very well. There was no religion. No hymns. My brother, Chris, gave a talk, - a eulogy, followed by Dad’s best mate Geof, (with one ‘f’). Then we had The Flaming Lips “Do You Realize” . I spoke next, and then it was Monty Python’s “Always Look On The Bright Side Of Life”. The funeral director estimated that there was between 160 and 200 people there. This old guy came up to me afterwards and enthused, saying that he was 83 years old, and he’d been to lots of funerals, and this was the best one he’d ever been to. Rocking. I think Dad would have been proud. The “wake” was a winner. Lots of faces I hadn’t seen for a long time, and lots of faces I’d never seen. The catering was good. Again, it wasn’t a sad occasion. Everyone held it together, and it wound up around five O’clock. I went to the pub with my bro and some friends, and drank far too much, lost my wallet in a Chinese restaurant. It was a good day. I went to work the next day, but left early as Chris has picked up the ashes. It happened to be Ash Wednesday. One of Dad’s Navy mates, Nigel, and his family joined Chris, Chris’ missus Helen, Uncle Rod, Vik, me, Billy and Floyd up at Dad’s field. Dad had planted an oak tree some years ago, and we took the flowers from the funeral and laid them around the tree and Chris scattered the ashes around the tree. Mum explained to Billy that the ashes were “Grandad-fertilizer”. Chris got some on his shoe. He couldn’t shut the ash-scatterer when he was finished, and Nigel suggested that maybe Dad had got his ear stuck, preventing it from closing. Mum moved in with us, Mum and Dad’s house still had another three months work in it, -not including the garage. The work on the house has continued as Dad had planned, and Mum is getting back into the routine of doing whatever she did up at the house. Dad wasn’t able to pass on any lasting advice before he passed away, as it was all so sudden. He had had a bit of a cold for a while but he was OK. He helped Chris put up a greenhouse on the Sunday. On Sunday night, he said to Mum that he was cold, and was shivering. In the morning, Mum noticed that his ear-lobes, and his some areas on his flanks were blue. She rushed him to hospital. I got there a half hour after. He looked bloody awful, -like he’d been through a few rounds with Mike Tyson. He had pneumonia, and his system was shutting down. I remember ringing Vikki and saying that they said this, and she said “his what is shutting down?”, and I said “HIS SYSTEM!!!!”. He used to say that the secret to a long life was to “keep breathing”. This happened to be the last words that Mum said to Dad as he was taken off to the Intensive Care Unit. We expected to catch up with him 10 minutes or so later, but after an hour, I asked what was going on… A bit later, they offered Mum and me a cup of tea. Fuck. I don’t drink tea. Anyway, we’re all OK. I see Dad everywhere, all the time. In a good way. I know what ghosts are now. We’re sad, but we’re dealing with the change to our lives. But keep cracking jokes about it. It’s all very strange. We keep expecting to wake up and expect to see him in the shower Bobby Ewing style. Bonkers. Since the day of the funeral, I have thought of so many other things I wish I had said, -however, this was what I had to say: Dad was such a popular bloke, -he would anything for anybody. He was happiest when he was helping somebody. He was known and loved by so many people. My mantelpiece is straining from the weight of the cards sent by you all. We’ve had well-wishers sending condolences from all over. The cards all agree on the same things. He retired from the nine to five at forty-five to live in the style of the TV show the Good Life.He was the least materialistic person I know. Satisfied with his lofty position of peasant farmer. He was a good looking bloke for 61 years, and will always remembered so. He got to see a lot of the family on the day before he died. Everyone remarked on how well he had seemed. He was a great giver of advice. He always wanted the very best outcome for anyone who turned to him. Dad’s secret to long life was to “keep breathing”. This happened to be the last words mum said to him, in jest, -as we didn’t know what was going to happen next.He was then taken away into the lift to Intensive Care. We didn’t have a chance to say goodbye to his face, but we’re trying to do the next best thing today. I know that he would appreciate you all being here today, and I hope you can join us for a drink or a shot of Pusser’s Rum in the Olive Branch in Wimborne after the service. Dad had a great sense of humour, although his repertoire of jokes was notoriously bad. He would always have a tune in his head. This was a song that Dad liked to sing, and whistle: == Monty Python's "Always Look on the Bright Side Of Life" ==
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