Douglas - Aussie Born, Scottish Raised.
With Fathers day just around the corner, I thought I would write a little about my dad.
My dad, was the only child out of 5 that was born here, in Australia. His brothers and sister were both born in Scotland. While my Aunty and Uncles are great people, I think my dad had an certain edge above them all - but I'm biased.Â
He would play with me after every day at work. continuously shot home videos which are my cherished possessions. He would call me Donkey-Bombie-Head, and play Doom and Heretic with me. He was actually just a great person, and was meant to be MY dad.
We would go to christmas at his brothers house, and he and his 3 brothers would drink and dance and sing âthe Flower of Scotlandâ in very intense accents. Heâd let me dance on his feet, and carry me home while i slept.Â
I remember listening to the opening sequence of 'Home Improvementâ waiting of the last sound of âurgghâ which we would always say in unison. Him reading me âourâ favourite book âMy Muddled Up Robotâ almost every night.Â
I don't really have a lot of stories about my dad which I can personally remember. I was only little when he died.Â
I was sitting in the lounge room with mum and dad, and theyâre both crying. âDads sickâ, Mum said, âbut were going to do everything we can to make him betterâ. Being around 8 years old at the time, I was not to fully comprehend what was going on. But I knew, without them even telling me, that it was something MAJOR.
This is a really hard subject for me to revisit, the memories and feelings I have about this part of my life, I have crushed, squashed, buried down as far as they possibly could, and only of late have they started to resurface, for reasons I donât fully understand.
The cancer was aggressive, what started as a melanoma had spread to almost every type of cancer you can think of, and it was EVERYWHERE. My dad was very, very sick. He was going to die, and he and my mum knew it. This I only found out later, after he died. Dad made mum promise not to divulge the seriousness of his condition to me, or my little sister, who was only 4 at the time. So I was clueless⊠sort of.
From that day he came home and we had that discussion, I knew, I JUST KNEW that something was happening, something horrible, but I just didnât know what, but my subconscious did, it HAD to. My dreams were not filled with unicorns and mermaids and sparkles and fairies. My dreams were playing out different scenarios in which my dad would die. Shooting, hanging, stabbing. While I knew he would not die this way, I did know that he would. Somehow.
When the cancer had spread to his brain, I was told that it was in his brain, and that it could make him have seizures (or a description, as I didnât know what a seizure was at 8 years old). Mum was going out, and I had to stay home with dad, and I started to panic. What if something happened while mum was out, and while I knew to call 000, I still would not really know what to do in that situation. So I waited, and waited for mum to come back through that door, which seemed like hours after when it was probably less than an hour. That was the last time I really got to spend with my dad and it haunts me every day, that I didnât spend the time with him when I should have.
Shortly after, he was taken to hospice. My mum had called my psychologist from my car accident to come and help mum tell my sister and I that this was it, what was really happening, and that dad wouldnât be coming home. And boy, did I not want to hear that. I knew it was coming; I avoided eye contact and tried to run away. I can still see the burned image of my surroundings, my mums tear soaked face, hiding in the corner of my bedroom. This was it.
 Mum offered to take me to see him, but had informed me he didnât want me or my sister to see him the way he was. I wish I had have ignored that, and gone to see my father in his final hours. But I know he was surrounded by loved ones. His brothers and sisters, and my mums brother â my dads best mate, Mums sister â who was there for mum the whole way.
I stayed with my uncle and aunty that night, I was scared to see how sad my mum was, even these days, I do everything, and I mean EVERYTHING AND ANYTHING, to make sure she doesnât cry, because even if it has nothing to do with me, I hate to see her sad. I should have been at home for her that night, September 10th. And I wasnât, and I will always, always feel guilty for that.
Mumâs sister stayed with us for a while, and my cousins, who were almost like my brother and sister â I grew up closer to them than anyone else. And I didnât go back to school until after the funeral.
My aunty helped me, and my cousins, write a eulogy for my dad. Little memories from the times we spent with him, how much fun he was, how he was the BEST dad, and uncle. And, like the beautiful people that they are, they delivered those speeches for him, and they were only a year or so older than me. And as expected, I chickened out. I stood there, in the back, holding my dance teachers â and a long time friend of my dads â hand, and cried, fighting my mum who was trying to get me up there to speak. She knew Iâd regret it if I didnât. she was right.
 That night, at his wake, I met a lot of new people. A LOT. And all I wanted to do was be with my mum, and my sister, my cousins and that special aunty of mine. Id had enough of people being around.
This is why I urge people to appreciate their parents. This does not count for those who's parents were abusive in one way or another, this does not count to those who never had parents. This is for the people who have, or have had real, caring parents. There is so many people who would tell there parents to shut up and stop embarrassing them, or talk down at them for not knowing how to do something that comes naturally to us.Â
Take the time to get to know them, take the time to help them. Don't lie to them, steal from them, emotionally or physically abuse them. DONT IGNORE THEM. They love you. Unconditionally.Â
I don't just want my dad, I NEED my dad, and that is the hardest thing. Heâs not coming back, and nothing and no one will ever be able to fill this permanent void I have in my heart.
So this Fathers day, I urge you, please sit with your dad, and listen to him read the paper, or explain something you find boring. Because if my dad was here, there is nothing Iâd rather be doing. No where Iâd rather be, than by his side. Being able to have just one more conversation with him.
