TRIBUTE TO MY FATHER

At 5.20am this morning (Tuesday 2 December) the phone rang. It was my brother and mother in Ireland, ringing me to confirm the dreaded news. Dad has been diagnosed with bowel cancer and will hopefully go into hospital tomorrow. My beautiful big strong brother left the phone on that note: wailing. My dear mother would take over from him, saying that we need to stay strong; “ No point being down in the dumps,” were her words of wisdom. She did say that she thinks he hasn’t got long to go.

I was sort of prepared for this as Dad has not been well for the past three months. My mother and brother rang on Sunday night to wish Claire a happy 11 Birthday and they warned me that things were not good. Dad had lost interest in eating most things (except the potato and fish) due to his inability to hold it down. He had lost lots of weight and had gone blue and white in the face. That was enough for me.

I have taken the day off work to book flight to Ireland and say my farewells before the dreaded morphine takes hold. In the meantime I cry and cry at the reality and think what it must be like to be Mum and Dad right at this moment.

I am blessed to have a father like the one I was given. I remember looking at photos of my Mum and Dad’s wedding, when I was very little. I was often left thinking; “What a great choice Mum made in Dad, as a life long partner!”

He was handsome, had a beautiful melting smile and so gentle. He always seemed to hold his head about him when the world around him seemed out of control. He had an inner strength and peace that left me in awe.

“Wait, until your father finds out!” were Mum’s famous last words. Yet Dad’s gentle firm nature was enough to let us know that was not how we did things in our house.

“Clean up the house, in the name of God!” were some of Dad’s recurring tips to his three buzzing teenage daughters. Our quiet respect for our father was to be heard ringing through the house every Friday afternoon. The big clean out was yet again launched. Not even Mum was allowed to thread across the newly mopped tiles. Mr Sheen loved that home as did the cake company.

Whipping up an assortment of dishes were one of his teenage daughters favourite pastimes. However Dad drew the line when it came to curry and the accompaniments. He had one spoonful and called for a “proper” dinner. Luckily Mum had the insight to have the potato, cabbage, white sauce and bacon at the ready! Dad always encouraged us to eat well. He often brought home treats from the shops that other families may not have had the privilege of indulging in. Fresh ham off the bone, mayonnaise, beetroot, tomato, lettuce and potato salad formed part of the summer lunch. Followed by blocks of vanilla or Neapolitan ice cream with wafers. Followed by fresh pears, apples and bananas. “Dad, I wonder where we all got that great love of fine food from!”

Dad is a man of integrity. He was never seen to tolerate gossip in the floor of his home. I was often a little miffed with him because I thought that he could have so much more fun with the juicy tit bits that were to be chewed. However, Dad wasn’t one to have fun at other people’s expense. He was able to have fun without that. Entertaining the people that he chose to befriend was what made his day. Chatting about the latest farming techniques, global trends and football was what gave Dad a buzz. Not to mention the winter card games or the Guinness that he could manage, when he went into town. My father was moderate in everything he did.

Extravagance was never to be entertained. Mind you, I do remember when I was a child, I was privy to a conversation himself and my mother had regarding the purchase of Small Jer’s farm. It seemed like we were going to live on a potato diet for the rest of our lives. I obviously was hearing Mum’s side of things. Dad, you were often so patient with Mum. Mum was perhaps more of an Italian mother than an Irish one. Emotion was the catchcry of the day. Yet Dad, you balanced that so well with the constant thinking hat that you never really took off.

Pride in yourself was perhaps one of your greatest hallmarks. From the car you drove to the clothes you wore to the house you built, you shone in our eyes. You gave up smoking so that we could have the house of our dreams. Dad, you are a champion. You taught us to dress with a sense of style and self respect. Your pride in us was to be found in the time you set aside for us when we went to the local discos. You would drop us off and wait for us, for hours, in the freezing cold Winter nights, until the fun was over.

Your dedication to our education spoke loud and clear when our reports arrived home. You paid for our tertiary education, without a whim. You kept two jobs in tow. The farm by day and the river by night was not an easy juggle. Not to mention fulfilling your duty as husband and father of six children. Sleep during summer was rationed. Your life often was at risk, with your river job. Having being shot at on the hand and only loosing your watch made us realise the intensity of your job. Yet, you went back to risk your life again, just to keep food on the table for us.

You are an awesome human being. You have taught us so much about the real important things in life. I couldn’t have picked a better role model father and human being. Hope you can rest comfortably knowing that you did a five star job. Know that you are admired and loved unconditionally by all of us.

Your response to the doctor's news regarding your terminal illness is what keeps us all focused. Your reply; 'That's life.'

Today, is Friday and I am ready to fly from Brisbane to Cork via Singaporean airlines to go see my father for the last time. It will be comforting to be with all of the family. My brother is flying in from New York tomorrow also. My sister arrives from London on Monday.

Not sure what lies ahead…the great unknown is to be encountered.