"Da"
"To live on in the hearts of those you love is not to die"
In the early hours of the 5th of July, after an astoundingly brave and long battle, a light went out in my world. I said goodbye to my hero, my role model, my daddy.
Words can't express how I'm feeling right now, and I haven't even processed the enormity of what has happened but I would like people to know a little bit about the man I simply called 'Da'.
I was always a daddy's girl. When you're little you have no clue about the reality of what your parents are dealing with, and I always thought my mum was grumpy and dad was the funny one. Later in life I realised that mum had a lot to contend with. Dad was no angel in the early days, and added to that the stress of bringing up four children and losing twins to miscarriage, it's not difficult to see why she struggled.
They soldiered on and got through life's challenges and a road accident my dad was involved in (through no fault of his own) was a huge wake up call. Their marriage survived all the trials and tribulations thrown their way until sadly my mum passed away in 2008.
I have many happy memories of being a young child in the era where you could leave your house at 8.30 in the morning and not return until dinner time and no one batted an eyelid. When you could leave your front door on the latch and the neighbours did the same. We were free to wander and we did just that, calling into neighbours for treats and chats and no harm done. Climbing trees and walls and seeing who could jump off the highest wall without being hurt.
I have many fond memories of the time I spent with dad. From the annual horse show in the RDS, to going out on jobs with him when he was a painter and decorator. He didn't care that I was a girl, he taught me all the DIY tips he knew. Changing plugs and painting walls weren't considered 'women's work' but he taught me everything I know.
Saturdays were dad's day off so mum got out of the house for a bit and left him to mind us. I loved it because I could wrap him round my little finger. Saturdays were spent eating biscuit sandwiches, drinking tea and watching World of Sport on TV. We watched the 'proper' wrestling, cheering on Big Daddy and booing Giant Haystacks. Of course I'd be hyper from too many biscuits but I loved it.
Then it was time for the horse racing. To which I joined in my dad's mantra of 'shift yer arse ye donkey' and other such lovely phrases that my mum would go mad at him for teaching me.
My poor mum was of course out doing the family food shop, without a car I might add. She struggled on the bus with shopping bags and later as a treat she bought herself a trolly thingy.
So after the horse racing it was time to have a bath and we all gathered around the tv afterwards, eating our dinner and watching Doctor Who.
My dad taught me how to drive. I was 15 when he started teaching me. We went to carparks and off road places . that wouldn't be used at the weekends or in the evenings. he also taught me all of his bad driving habits and his 'drive it like ya stole it' attitude has stayed with me. That only comes out now and then, but that was my dad. All or nothing, no point doing it otherwise.
I always remember being extra smug when I was able to drive myself and my brother to school!
Dad always had bad luck with cars, many many stories exist of the strange cars we had, one being an orange Ritmo that could only be started by two people. One to turn the key, the other to bang the starting motor with a hammer. It worked!
His stressy style of driving stuck with me for a long time, and it took me a while to actually enjoy driving and relax behind the wheel.
Later in life when I got married and had children I saw another side to both my mum and dad. They adored their grandchildren, each with their own personalities, each one very different.
nothing was too much for them, and babysitting was their favourite past time.
Being an only girl with three brothers, and having my daughter who was the only grand daughter in the family (four grand sons) my dad had a particular love for us.
When my mum died myself and Anna my daughter felt distraught because we were like the three musketeers but dad did his utmost to fill that gap. Indeed, when he was really ill myself and Anna weren't allowed in to see him together as we made his heart rate go wild!
On 2nd June I travelled to Belfast with my dad to get his cataracts operated on. His sight had been failing and as the waiting list in Dublin was so long we thought this was the best option. "We'll make a new man of you" they said. On the way to the train to Belfast he took weak and as we helped him we agreed that when we got back we would look into this further.
The surgery went well, he charmed all the nurses and they lapped it up. He was a real charmer you see, and could literally charm anyone. When I went to see him after the op, he looked really well, and was tucking into his 'sup of tea' and toast. Two helpings mind you. We got home and he rested. The next day we went to the GP. She decided he needed bloods etc done so sent us to A and E.
The hospital decided that he was severely anaemic, and kept him in. He stayed for ten days, had an iron infusion, and was doing well. He was prescribed medication for the anaemia, which was due to him having kidney disease, a by product of the diabetes medication he had been on.
So I brought him home on the Tuesday, and myself and my brother got him settled, did his shopping, and agreed that between us we would go back and forth to his house to make sure he was ok.
That night he had a bad night. He felt warm and had a tickle in his throat. He couldn't settle. We agreed to try one more night and if there was no improvement we would go back to the hospital.
he seemed brighter, so we settled him on the Wednesday night and went home.
On Thursday I got a phone call. His and my friend had tried to phone him and he answered but was unable to speak. I was on my way over anyway but the journey became more desperate. When I got there, things were bad. Nit going into details but I called an ambulance immediately. He was unable to breathe. He was scared. Tough to see someone so strong so afraid.
We got to A and E and they diagnosed pneumonia. All too familiar as pneumonia killed my mum. The prognosis was good though, antibiotics and a stay in hospital would sort it out. So off we went again to the ward he had left two days ago. We left him to try get some rest, as we could see how poorly he was. The next day we visited in the morning. He had a good night and was sleeping, so we left him to it. A couple of hours later my brother arrived to find he had been moved. A shock to see no Liam where we had left him. He had taken bad and was moved to HDU. He spent two days there. The family were called in. They were moving him to their sister hospital. They had more equipment and experts there so it was what was best for him. Off he went, very ill, in the ambulance and we followed in our cars. I had to go home for his meds so got delayed getting to the new hospital. In that space of time he went totally down hill. My brothers were called into a room and told that my dad was very very sick. In the space of an hour he had gone from a continuous observation unit to ICU.
I got there to shocked and worried faces from my brothers.
I went in to see dad. He was trying to tell me things, things I would need to know. He knew. We had to leave to let the doctors do their best. That night was a bad one. We weren't allowed in to see him on the Monday for ages. We later found out that he had crashed. We were all called in to a room and told the worst. Sepsis.
For two more weeks dad fought the hardest battle, the longest battle. He had machines and tubes and transfusions and so many injections. It was tough watching him struggle with the ventilator. My beautiful dad was suffering terribly. One of the last things he said to the doctors was to do everything in their power to keep him alive and they did. The sepsis was too too much. It attacked his bowel and they removed it hoping it would work and it did. For a little while. Sepsis is a sneaky bastard though. On the evening of Wed 4th July, after flirting with the nurses and smiling at Anna, dad started to go downhill. His wound was oozing. We were told that he was very very ill. I had to sign permission for an emergency op, but the specialist wasn't too optimistic. They said it was likely that the sepsis was back, the damage was too far gone, and that he might not survive.
And so it was, on 5th July at 1.20am, we said goodbye to the most amazing dad, the best Santa, my best friend. He slipped away peacefully, surrounded by the people he loved.
He was a member of lots of social clubs, a men's shed, a snooker and pool club. He was Santa to hundreds of children through the years, he was a friend to many and was loved by all he met.
It was a privilege to be his daughter. Our lives were enriched in more ways than I can say. I believe he is at peace now, and he has more than earned it.
He is the reason I love Arsenal so much. Oh and if you were ever scalded by a cup of tea that had been kicked over in Emirates it was probably him, blaming it on someone else. You can forgive him though, as his cheeky grin would win you over.
I helped carry his coffin on his last journey, something again that women don't do. It was the least I could do, he carried me more than once.
So now we continue our journey without him, though he lives on in all of us.
He was Liam, not William.
His nickname was Skyler.
He was funny, and kind, and forthrite
He was quite simply....... my Da.
SharonAnn
In the early hours of the 5th of July, after an astoundingly brave and long battle, a light went out in my world. I said goodbye to my hero, my role model, my daddy.
Words can't express how I'm feeling right now, and I haven't even processed the enormity of what has happened but I would like people to know a little bit about the man I simply called 'Da'.
I was always a daddy's girl. When you're little you have no clue about the reality of what your parents are dealing with, and I always thought my mum was grumpy and dad was the funny one. Later in life I realised that mum had a lot to contend with. Dad was no angel in the early days, and added to that the stress of bringing up four children and losing twins to miscarriage, it's not difficult to see why she struggled.
They soldiered on and got through life's challenges and a road accident my dad was involved in (through no fault of his own) was a huge wake up call. Their marriage survived all the trials and tribulations thrown their way until sadly my mum passed away in 2008.
I have many happy memories of being a young child in the era where you could leave your house at 8.30 in the morning and not return until dinner time and no one batted an eyelid. When you could leave your front door on the latch and the neighbours did the same. We were free to wander and we did just that, calling into neighbours for treats and chats and no harm done. Climbing trees and walls and seeing who could jump off the highest wall without being hurt.
I have many fond memories of the time I spent with dad. From the annual horse show in the RDS, to going out on jobs with him when he was a painter and decorator. He didn't care that I was a girl, he taught me all the DIY tips he knew. Changing plugs and painting walls weren't considered 'women's work' but he taught me everything I know.
Saturdays were dad's day off so mum got out of the house for a bit and left him to mind us. I loved it because I could wrap him round my little finger. Saturdays were spent eating biscuit sandwiches, drinking tea and watching World of Sport on TV. We watched the 'proper' wrestling, cheering on Big Daddy and booing Giant Haystacks. Of course I'd be hyper from too many biscuits but I loved it.
Then it was time for the horse racing. To which I joined in my dad's mantra of 'shift yer arse ye donkey' and other such lovely phrases that my mum would go mad at him for teaching me.
My poor mum was of course out doing the family food shop, without a car I might add. She struggled on the bus with shopping bags and later as a treat she bought herself a trolly thingy.
So after the horse racing it was time to have a bath and we all gathered around the tv afterwards, eating our dinner and watching Doctor Who.
My dad taught me how to drive. I was 15 when he started teaching me. We went to carparks and off road places . that wouldn't be used at the weekends or in the evenings. he also taught me all of his bad driving habits and his 'drive it like ya stole it' attitude has stayed with me. That only comes out now and then, but that was my dad. All or nothing, no point doing it otherwise.
I always remember being extra smug when I was able to drive myself and my brother to school!
Dad always had bad luck with cars, many many stories exist of the strange cars we had, one being an orange Ritmo that could only be started by two people. One to turn the key, the other to bang the starting motor with a hammer. It worked!
His stressy style of driving stuck with me for a long time, and it took me a while to actually enjoy driving and relax behind the wheel.
Later in life when I got married and had children I saw another side to both my mum and dad. They adored their grandchildren, each with their own personalities, each one very different.
nothing was too much for them, and babysitting was their favourite past time.
Being an only girl with three brothers, and having my daughter who was the only grand daughter in the family (four grand sons) my dad had a particular love for us.
When my mum died myself and Anna my daughter felt distraught because we were like the three musketeers but dad did his utmost to fill that gap. Indeed, when he was really ill myself and Anna weren't allowed in to see him together as we made his heart rate go wild!
On 2nd June I travelled to Belfast with my dad to get his cataracts operated on. His sight had been failing and as the waiting list in Dublin was so long we thought this was the best option. "We'll make a new man of you" they said. On the way to the train to Belfast he took weak and as we helped him we agreed that when we got back we would look into this further.
The surgery went well, he charmed all the nurses and they lapped it up. He was a real charmer you see, and could literally charm anyone. When I went to see him after the op, he looked really well, and was tucking into his 'sup of tea' and toast. Two helpings mind you. We got home and he rested. The next day we went to the GP. She decided he needed bloods etc done so sent us to A and E.
The hospital decided that he was severely anaemic, and kept him in. He stayed for ten days, had an iron infusion, and was doing well. He was prescribed medication for the anaemia, which was due to him having kidney disease, a by product of the diabetes medication he had been on.
So I brought him home on the Tuesday, and myself and my brother got him settled, did his shopping, and agreed that between us we would go back and forth to his house to make sure he was ok.
That night he had a bad night. He felt warm and had a tickle in his throat. He couldn't settle. We agreed to try one more night and if there was no improvement we would go back to the hospital.
he seemed brighter, so we settled him on the Wednesday night and went home.
On Thursday I got a phone call. His and my friend had tried to phone him and he answered but was unable to speak. I was on my way over anyway but the journey became more desperate. When I got there, things were bad. Nit going into details but I called an ambulance immediately. He was unable to breathe. He was scared. Tough to see someone so strong so afraid.
We got to A and E and they diagnosed pneumonia. All too familiar as pneumonia killed my mum. The prognosis was good though, antibiotics and a stay in hospital would sort it out. So off we went again to the ward he had left two days ago. We left him to try get some rest, as we could see how poorly he was. The next day we visited in the morning. He had a good night and was sleeping, so we left him to it. A couple of hours later my brother arrived to find he had been moved. A shock to see no Liam where we had left him. He had taken bad and was moved to HDU. He spent two days there. The family were called in. They were moving him to their sister hospital. They had more equipment and experts there so it was what was best for him. Off he went, very ill, in the ambulance and we followed in our cars. I had to go home for his meds so got delayed getting to the new hospital. In that space of time he went totally down hill. My brothers were called into a room and told that my dad was very very sick. In the space of an hour he had gone from a continuous observation unit to ICU.
I got there to shocked and worried faces from my brothers.
I went in to see dad. He was trying to tell me things, things I would need to know. He knew. We had to leave to let the doctors do their best. That night was a bad one. We weren't allowed in to see him on the Monday for ages. We later found out that he had crashed. We were all called in to a room and told the worst. Sepsis.
For two more weeks dad fought the hardest battle, the longest battle. He had machines and tubes and transfusions and so many injections. It was tough watching him struggle with the ventilator. My beautiful dad was suffering terribly. One of the last things he said to the doctors was to do everything in their power to keep him alive and they did. The sepsis was too too much. It attacked his bowel and they removed it hoping it would work and it did. For a little while. Sepsis is a sneaky bastard though. On the evening of Wed 4th July, after flirting with the nurses and smiling at Anna, dad started to go downhill. His wound was oozing. We were told that he was very very ill. I had to sign permission for an emergency op, but the specialist wasn't too optimistic. They said it was likely that the sepsis was back, the damage was too far gone, and that he might not survive.
And so it was, on 5th July at 1.20am, we said goodbye to the most amazing dad, the best Santa, my best friend. He slipped away peacefully, surrounded by the people he loved.
He was a member of lots of social clubs, a men's shed, a snooker and pool club. He was Santa to hundreds of children through the years, he was a friend to many and was loved by all he met.
It was a privilege to be his daughter. Our lives were enriched in more ways than I can say. I believe he is at peace now, and he has more than earned it.
He is the reason I love Arsenal so much. Oh and if you were ever scalded by a cup of tea that had been kicked over in Emirates it was probably him, blaming it on someone else. You can forgive him though, as his cheeky grin would win you over.
I helped carry his coffin on his last journey, something again that women don't do. It was the least I could do, he carried me more than once.
So now we continue our journey without him, though he lives on in all of us.
He was Liam, not William.
His nickname was Skyler.
He was funny, and kind, and forthrite
He was quite simply....... my Da.
SharonAnn
Comments
Post a Comment