One year on .....

<span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Arial">Just over a year ago my Dad was drawing his last few breaths. He was 64 and had been blessed with good health for 63 &frac34; yrs of his life, having never spent a day in hospital. And aged 64, he was at the beginning of the next chapter of his life - retirement lay ahead, the mortgage was long paid off, modest investments had been wisely executed and the future looked bright. A persistent pain in February gave way to stage IV lung cancer, and he died on 30^th July, 2007.</span></p><span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Arial" /><span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Arial">One of the things I admired about Dad was his work ethic. As a kid growing up I was always aware I had privileges he never had, purely because of what he and Mum had provided for my brother and me. I had opportunities he never knew, and I sometimes felt guilty, drinking away my university education, acting the fool, doing as little as possible to get by when he had none of those trappings. Finally, I left university after scraping a maths degree, yet still fell into a good job in London. Dad had spent his entire life in Barnsley but was still much wiser than I would ever be. </span><span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Arial">

<span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Arial">He lived a noble and honest life. He believed in endeavour, first and foremost. His Conservatism annoyed me for a while, it didn't fit with his compassionate nature, but I came to realise it was the work ethic he most admired. I felt like a fraud in many ways because I tended to coast through life. I always 'got by' somehow. I achieved, but never in the noble way Dad achieved things. He worked hard and earned everything. He was never lucky, he was always deserving. In Dad's world, you invested effort in order to make gains, and you reaped what you sowed. He probably wouldn't ever have admitted it but he believed in Karma. Dad was a hippy, man! </span></p></span>

<span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Arial" /><span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Arial">As I grew older and left home, going back to Barnsley was always a treat - from university, from London, with girlfriends, with Donna, with Donna and the kids - he was the perfect host. Always interested in people, with an innate ability to connect to anyone and everyone at all levels - students, male, female, wealthy, poor, young, old - he was able to tune in to their level and most importantly of all, to make them laugh.</span></p><span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Arial" /><span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Arial">I also admired the way he coped towards the end. He had every right to be bitter and angry &ndash; five months from start to finish, the world was pulled from under his feet. I must have thought about that a thousand times this past year. How would I react? Badly, angrily, self pityingly, yet Dad showed none of this. I'm never sure if he did that for us, or whether that was his way, but he never faltered. Right until the end we talked football, talked about the minutiae of life like nothing was different.</span><span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Arial"> </span><span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Arial"><span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Arial">He knew it was different though, he knew he was dying. When I saw him for the last time in hospital before we left for America, we hugged, shook hands and he looked at me knowingly, like he knew he wouldn't see me again, yet he remained completely calm and asked me to remind mum to give the kids some pocket money to spend on holiday. He was heavily sedated, weak and tired, yet he never faltered. That thought, that image, that dignified display of grace still makes me weep, even now one year on. Although I miss him terribly, he still lights the way for me today, and whilst I might always be inferior, I will always have the perfect guide and mentor. </span><span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Arial">

<span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Arial">On Thursday we will try again for that holiday to the USA, the kids with their pocket money tucked firmly into their back pockets, this, the holiday that was cut short 12 months ago when Dad died and we had to return home after just a few days. </span></p></span>

<span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Arial">His last game was Leicester at home when we stayed up. I was glad we stayed up because I knew that would probably be his last game and that was a nice memory for him to carry with him. I was in the Ponty End, in my season ticket seat, and he was in the Lower East Stand with Mum and my kids. I could see him from my seat and he could see me. We nodded when the news came through that we would stay up despite being crap, and I filled up.</span></p></span>

<span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Arial">He brought me to Oakwell 35 years ago when the East Stand was a dilapidated Brewery Stand and the whole thing felt very poignant somehow. Very emotional, not just because we had stayed up, but because I knew it was his last game and it felt right, like it was the very least he deserved after 60 years of visiting Oakwell. At least he could brag beyond St Peter's Gates that he supported a Championship club. </span></p>

<span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Arial">One year on my sadness is still strong but its no longer despairing. My thoughts are now full of remembrance and pride for a great man. One year on, I miss him as much as ever, but I am fiercely proud of him and I hope that one day we will meet again, when he'll probably ask if Mum gave the grandkids their pocket money for that trip to America, and then we'll talk about how crap Barnsley are, and all will be well in the world again. </span></p><span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Arial" /><span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Arial">Let the new season begin. </span><span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Arial" /><span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Arial">

</p></span>

 

touched and i feel for your loss its just brought a tear to my eyes god bless your dad

 

You have put those feelings so very well

I hope things will continue to resolve themselves well for you. It will never stop hurting but there is always the knowledge that you have been so privileged to have been so close to such a good person.

 

Hope you get a good holiday this year mate

Remember all the good times and live life to the fullest.

 

Good dads are very very special and yours was obviously one of those. I too saw that &quot;look&quot; in my dad's face the last timeI saw him alive. We were extremely close.</p>

I still carry a tremendous presence with me from him that keeps me going a lot of the time. I'm glad that your memories are strong and positive and that he was the sort of dad who was obviously very close and dear to your wife, and particularly the kids. There is nothing more heartwarming than when your kids remember and continue to talk and laugh about YOUR dad years after he has departed.</p>

Have a great holiday.</p>

 

As always...

... mate. Perfect.

Now, bring it on fo towd fella!

 

What a brilliant piece of writing

I reckon the father will be proud of his son too.

 

I feel so humbled.....thankyou

you may as well have been describing my Father too.I lost him in 1995 same age, but he had a bad heart. I hope your Dad has bumped into mine , they both deserve good company.
But your feelings on your Dad are also replicated in my heart for mine. I moan and groan yes..but you may have probably just put me back in place ........well for now....thankyou.

 

Let's hope,

that the players perform with the same amount of pride and passion that was more than evident in your post.

Great stuff.

Cheers,

 

I also feel all our players shoud read this....perhaps then

they may get some idea what its all about.

 

</p>

ahhh, mate. dad's and boys eh?</p>

I hopes you feel good after being moved to write up what youare feeling. You certainly affected me, old bean.</p>

</p>

 

Great post

very touching.

My dad died earlier this year, he was taken into hospital the day after he met my soon to be wife, he was fine when I saw him then, the change in him in just 24 hours was unbelievable, even the doctors couldn't believe when I was telling them how he was the night before.
My dad said "I didn't think I'd end up in here", he knew he wasn't going back home again even if I didn't at that point. To see the way he deteriorated over a week was heartbreaking.
His last words to me were "where's your mum?" - she died 7 years ago!

 

That was an incredible piece of writing, love. Your dad would be so so proud of you.

 

Brought a lump to the throat and a tear to the eye - a heart felt piece that does you and your Dad proud.

 

Thoughful and poignant.

People may pass away but memories last forever.

 

Beautiful. Just that.

 

Blimey

had to wipe me eyes half way through that. Have a great holiday, no doubt towd lad will be looking down on you with pride.

 

Agree with what everyone else has said - very touching piece of writing my friend. I wish I had a similar story to tell but, because of circumstances, I was never as close to my Dad as you obviously were. The similarities are there though. He introduced first my brother Ron to Oakwell, then me (in the early 1960s) and thus started an unbroken attachment that will never be broken no matter what happens at the club.
My parents brought five of us up somehow, in very modest surroundings, but I guess in the "right" way. You never see it though growing up do you - just how much they do for you.
Mum had her 80th this year but Dad died ten years ago. His last game was a miserably wet and windy April match against Middlesbrough. We drew 1-1 and I believe Jan Aage Fjortoft scored for them. We sat on the front row of the East Stand lower and, as everyone who has sat there in the rain will know, got soaked to the skin. We didn't know this was his last game of course but his eyesight was failing rapidly and, during the course of that close season, he probably made the decision that he would not go to Oakwell again. Despite many offers to escort him to the disabled stand he probably felt too proud to go in those circumstances. Such a shame then that he missed the club's finest hour. He was alive when promotion to the Premier was achieved but he passed away on 11 July 1998. I hope he's still watching the highlights, or maybe they don't get Sky up there. Who knows.....