Memories of my dad

My dad passed away on Thursday. He was 85 and the last year of his life was pretty tough. He had Parkinson’s disease and the symptoms were debilitating: loss of mobility, severe rigidity, hallucinations and depression.

His skeletal body was twisted, his hands were frozen into fists and he was in constant pain.

It was an awful way to spend his final days. We felt so powerless and sad that we couldn’t help him more. My mum and sister did the heavy lifting to support him, as they were only 10 minutes away. I would drive to Newcastle regularly, but most of the big stuff fell on their shoulders.

Dad’s pain became intolerable on May 19 and he was placed on a morphine pump.

The last thing he saw was his beloved grandson, who visited him the next morning. Dad opened his eyes briefly and whispered “Jimbo”.

At lunchtime, he swallowed a few mouthfuls of ice-cream, then slipped into unconsciousness.

Mum stayed beside Dad’s bed during the long, difficult days that followed, often with my sister and sometimes with me. We’d chat and reminisce, hoping he’d gain comfort from our voices.

We are devastated that he is gone, but grateful that his suffering is over.

Dad didn’t want a funeral, so I thought I’d share some memories here instead. I will start with my sister’s Facebook post, as it is more beautiful than anything that I could write.

In my case, I will share some memories, to give you a glimpse of my father before Parkinson’s Disease stole him.

My mum fell in love with my dad when he was a dashing prefect at Cessnock High, not to mention a champion junior golfer and first-grade rugby league player.
She found the courage to give him a wink at a dance one night. He was startled and smitten in equal measure and they started dating soon after.
Dad’s family, like most in Cessnock, didn’t have much money when he was growing up. Most kids left high school to work in the mines. But my father was determined to go to university, so he caught a train to Newcastle one day and cycled to BHP to apply for a scholarship. He dreamed of studying industrial chemistry, but applications had closed, so they offered him metallurgy instead. He had no idea what metallurgy was, but he signed up regardless.
He studied hard at Newcastle University and graduated with a science degree.
He spent his entire career working at BHP, rising to the role of Chief Metallurgist.
He was progressive about parenting, despite becoming a father in the late 1960s. He helped with the housework and loved having two daughters. He took an active role in caring for us from the moment we were born.
Every night he would piggy back us down the hallway to bed as we squealed with delight.
As we grew older he’d take us on endless adventures, hiking, biking, kayaking, the works.
One infamous day we biked all the way from Hawks Nest to Mungo Brush on a dirt road – roughly 20km each way … there may have been tears on the way back …
In his late 40s, he transferred into BHP’s marketing department and travelled the world on business, bringing us back kimonos from Japan and adding to my matchstick collection with boxes and booklets from every trip, despite being a strident non-smoker.
On a visit to Singapore I tasked him with delivering a toy koala to my pen pal, little understanding that while Singapore was a small island, it was a densely populated one. But he tracked the bemused pen pal down and delivered her gift.
He was vehemently opposed to pets and believed animals belonged in the wild. But one day he came home to discover we’d been gifted a bichon frise puppy. He said “I hope that’s a toy” and “it’s going back”, but we wore him down and Casper became his adored bestie. Mum still has Casper’s ashes and her wish is that all three of them be scatter together one day.
The biggest fight I remember having with my dad was after he tore up my RAM magazine, which featured my beloved Split Enz on the cover. He was disgusted because there were rude words in it and I was incandescent with outrage.
He made amends by bargaining with scalpers outside Split Enz concerts to get me tickets, then huddling up the back with earplugs while I danced delightedly down the front.
He gave a speech at my 21st birthday party akin to Hugh Grant’s infamous best man speech in “Four Weddings and a Funeral”, where he discussed all the weirdo friends I’d had over the years (many of whom were guests at the party … aaaaand thank you all for being with us tonight …)
He loved babies – primate and human alike. Documentaries and news stories about baby chimps delighted him.
He adored being a grandfather and would catch a train down from Newcastle each Thursday to pick his grandkids up from school, play games with them all afternoon, make sure they did their homework and were bathed, and cooked them dinner. Then he’d catch the train home again to Newcastle every Friday morning.
He was a health nut who was fanatical about eating properly and exercising frequently.
Despite his efforts, he struggled with major health issues throughout his later life, ranging from rheumatoid arthritis to macular degeneration and a heart attack.
He loved playing golf, watching footy, dancing to live jazz and sipping a good riesling.
He hated that Parkinson’s Disease took away all his favourite pursuits.
He kept to himself, which is probably why he didn’t want a funeral. His family were his world. He loved us fiercely. I think he held on for so long because he didn’t want to leave us.