Goodbye, Dad

So Dearly Beloved and I were in Bali, on the first week of our fortnight's holiday, when I received the phone call from my brother: Dad died this morning. It was his 61st wedding anniversary, to the day. We knew he was ill; the diagnosis was lung cancer ... terminal, inoperable at his age. But that was just three weeks ago and they thought he had months to go. I'd seen him just a few days beforehand and he'd been lively, eating well and actually gaining weight!

I don't know for sure what happened, but I like to think that Dad knew he could cheat the indignity of a prolonged dying by just ... letting ... go. And so he did. He died in his sleep, apparently peacefully, without struggle or pain. If any of us could have actually planned his passing, it would have been that way.

Sadly, Alzheimer's has sunk its teeth into Mum and she only sometimes realises what has happened. It is a cruel bastard of an affliction.

So I flew home to help my brothers prepare a funeral. Today has been spent scanning photos of his life, creating a slideshow, and preparing music for the service. The images and sounds made me weep, a number of times. I am emotionally drained ... and I still have the eulogy to write.

I'm saying goodbye to my hero. Dad taught me to walk like a man, to have table manners, respect for my elders and authority, to ride a bike, to hunt, to shoot, to fish, to care, to realise men can cry without demeaning themselves and, above all else, to love, the way he loved Mum. I know I caused him grief over the years, but I also know he always found it within his heart to forgive me. I will miss his "Hello, Sonny Jim ... how are you?" sorely.

Bye, Dad; love you.