My Dad’s funeral took place today. I know this is a simple statement in some respects, although it has complex ramifications and it follows the devastating, sudden and unexpected death of my Dad on Saturday 3rd March 2007.
Let me begin by quoting a few lyrics from “The Sad Café” by the Eagles, the song we arranged to be played as my Dad's coffin was carried in to the crematorium:-
“Now I look at the years gone by,
And wonder at the powers that be.
I don’t know why fortune smiles on some
And lets the rest go free”.
“There’s no use in asking why,
It just turned out that way”.
The Eagles were my Dad's favourite band. They are my favourite band too and we'd been to see them twice over the last five years, once in 2006 and once in 2001. I think these lyrics sum things up reasonably well in the way that, perhaps, only song lyrics can do. There are no words which can properly summarise the situation.
There was no logical rhyme nor reason to my Dad's sudden death. Medically, it was caused by a subarachnoid haemorrhage as a result of a ruptured cerebral artery. My Dad was fit and healthy and he was only 56 years old. He was fitter than me, and I am only 34! He would have been 57 at the end of this month. He had everything to live for and he had not yet fully lived his life. He worked incredibly and ridiculously hard all his days and, hopefully, he was nearing retirement and a new period of his life when he would have been able to find some free time to enjoy himself. I am both sad and angry that those opportunities have been "stolen" from him. He was a very good, caring and kind family man and he genuinely deserved to have that which he has now lost. I am well aware that there are many other people who have lost such opportunities - some of whom will have died at a younger age (for example, two of my cousins who died at age 30 and 34 respectively) - and that saddens me too. The old adage applies, though - you never think it will happen to you or your family and you don't really expect it to land on your doorstep no matter how common it is. It's always something you read about or hear about from a distance and you dutifully comment on how tragic the event in question was.
My Dad was sitting at his PC when my brother left the house to go to the DVD rental shop around 5pm. He was dead upon my brother's return, less than an hour later. We think he had been dead for at least half an hour when my brother found him and we believe he probably died almost instantaneously and fell to the floor thereafter. There was no sign of a struggle and he had made no attempt to send an email nor pick up the 'phone which was beside the PC. My brother and the paramedics tried to revive him, but to no avail.
It is very difficult to comprehend what it feels like when something like this happens - unless, of course, you have experienced it or something similar yourself. It was just another day. An ordinary day. We had no warning - and nor did my Dad. We were sitting down to watch the skating programme on ITV when my mother 'phoned. I put the 'phone down and said something to my husband along the lines of "I need to get my shoes, my Dad's dead". Less than an hour later, we were sitting in a dirty room in a hospital being informed that my father had "passed away". Those were the words the young female doctor used. I looked at her as though she was mad. It was like something from a Monty Python sketch and it still feels completely surreal.
I am so sad that I will never see my father again except in my mind, photos and dreams - which is no substitute whatsoever. I am equally sad that I will never have the benefit of his sound advice and that, likewise, nor will I again experience the joy of his quick wit, intelligence and sense of humour (which was second to none). There is a huge hole in my life and it cannot be filled. I would not attempt to fill it, as there is no substitute. Most of all, though, none of these things matter. What really matters is my Dad; it is him that I am sad for - rather than for myself or my family - and I am completely defeated by the thought of what he lost so quickly and suddenly that first Saturday in March. He had so much to live for and we had all assumed that the next few years would be the happiest years of his life. We had no idea what was around the corner. Nor did he. We had holidays planned and things to look forward to. If I have any children, they will never know their grandfather and he will never have the joy of knowing them.
I know that there is no point in saying "if only". It serves no real purpose. If I were to say that, however, I would say "if only I could have told him what he meant to me". I hope he died knowing just how much he meant to me and to others. He deserved that - and so much more.
