Today is 4 years since my Dad passed away.
He died from terminal cancer, Renal Cell Carcinoma that spread to his lungs, lymph nodes, liver and finally his brain.
I cared for him at home and made sure he passed away comfortably in his own bed, holding my hand.
I miss him so much, it is so hard to put it into
words.
So, instead, I am going to share the letter I wrote to him when he died, that was read at his funeral.
You only ever get one Dad. Treat them well. And tell them you love them every single chance you get, because there is no way to describe the pain when you realize that you will never get that chance again.
Dear
Dad,
You
were known by so many names: Robert, Bob, Sharpy, Bobbly, Bobby Hat Spinner,
Telebob, Head-Job-Bob (in a mechanical sense of course) and Mr Wilson. But to
me you were Daddy,
And
what an amazing Dad you were! From the word go, regardless of whether I was
going to be a boy or girl, it didn’t matter; I was going to be a “shed
baby”. During the week I was a real
girly girl, wearing pink and white, going to ballet, all prim and proper. Then at
lunchtime on Saturday that all changed! I would be romping around the Queen’s
Head hotel or the shed, covered in dirt and grease, doing skiddies on my bike
and loving every second of it!
You
taught me so many different things. I was still learning from you the day you
died. You taught me how to ride my first bike. You taught me how to fish, not
that we ever caught many! You taught me how to make awesome mud pies, how to
grow vegies, how to read a map, where the Southern Cross and Saucepan are. You
taught me so much about our neighbourhood on our Saturday night walks up to
Black Hill and back down to Bakery Hill for a thickshake. You taught me to
drive and hugged me and told me I did an awesome job after my first car
accident. You taught me how to change a tyre, check my spark plugs, and I loved
being your helper when you were bleeding brakes.
You
were always there to answer my questions. You are the smartest person I know,
and if you didn’t have the answer, you would walk away and ponder until it came
to you. In the last 3 years it became our little joke that you had written
books about everything. I’d be cooking, and you would peer over my shoulder and
say “chapter 3”! The truth is, you could have written a book, you had so much
knowledge in your head, and I can nearly guarantee every person in this room
would have bought them.
Your
whole life you have been surrounded by amazing people, people who are more than
friends. They are our family. People just flocked to you, loved you and wanted
to be near you. You would do anything for anyone, and never expect anything in
return. You were always the life of the party; quiet but with a wicked sense of
humour! Friday nights in Bob’s shed were a tradition of 29 years. So many
antics, so many stories and so many beers; if only the shed walls could talk! And
the amount of people who turned up for your surprise 56th birthday
is a testament to that! Once again we found you speechless, when after a lovely
day out with Geoff Spencer you walked in the back door to find 50 odd of your
favourite people yelling surprise! You quietly said thank you and backed out
the door again, and I thought it was all just too much for you. Turns out, you
were just busting to go to the toilet!! But the next morning at 6am, when I was
leaving to go back to Ireland for a month, you hugged me tight, and thanked me
for one of the best days of your life, and told me I was a cheeky bugger and if
I ever did it again, you would kick my butt!
I
am going to miss so many things! Our morning chats on your bed when I would
bring you your ‘breakfast’ – a hand full of pills, an up and go and a packet of
Escort Blue. I will miss the way you knew better than Betty Crocker or White
Wings, and had to add an extra egg or some other ingredient when baking a cake
or pudding, and would still eat it, no matter what the final result was! I will
miss you embarrassing me in the supermarket with your spontaneous dance moves
in the cheese aisle. I will never ever forget the first time I ever beat you at
pool. It was a late night at the Brown Hill Pub not long after my 18th
birthday, and as I potted the black ball you just stood there, stunned. A
mixture of pride and pissed off on your face. And of course – I was a gracious
winner – running around the pub getting high fives from everyone who were just
as thrilled, and scoring a free drink from Ant to celebrate! I will miss you
picking up the remote, or the phone, or my laptop, looking at me and saying
“on, off, channel ten! I am going to miss your bad, bad jokes, your smile and
your enthusiastic ‘Hello Button’ when I would call for our weekly 2 hour chats.
But most of all, I will miss being able to talk to you. I miss your hugs and
kisses on my forehead, and your wave back over your shoulder everytime I would
drive out the driveway.
Saying
goodbye to you was the hardest thing I have ever had to do. I knew this day was
coming, but I didn’t want to believe it. We spent a lot of time together since
you got sick, and I treasure every second. Even just sitting in the lounge
watching movies, or sitting in the back yard having a beer, or one of our many
educational trips to Bunnings, every second was so precious.
When
you took your last breath, your hand was in mine, your eyes staring into mine,
my heart broke, and it will never be fixed. You were such an amazing Dad; you
made me the person I am today, and I am so proud to call you my Dad. You fought
so hard with every ounce of energy you could muster. You were such an
inspiration, not only to me but to so many people.
I
know you will be having a ball up in heaven, having a beer with Knocky, Nanny,
Aunty Dianne, Aunty June, Ben, Kevin McSparron, Shorty and Grandad Warner.
I
now have the coolest guardian angel in the world. I am sure a lucky girl.
Please watch over me, let me know you are here every now and then, and
remember, you were, and still are, the most important man in my life and I will
spend every day of the rest of my life trying to make you proud.
Love
you forever Dad,
Grub
