My Father's Son

[marsden_online]

On July 18th my father passed away from cancer, ~6 weeks after we got the diagnosis.

He didn't want a funeral, but today there was a memorial service for him. He didn't want that either, he would have been embarrassed to think that ~160 people plus apologies would take time out of their lives to remember him.

I think the best description is paraphrasing something my mother said last weekend

"He never saw himself as anyone special, just an ordinary man making his way through life as best he could. But while there may not have been many who loved him, there are a lot who he helped along the way and who respected him."

As the eldest son of course I spoke, in truth bits of what I wrote have been floating around in my head since he had a minor heart attack last year.

One of my father's lesser-known pastimes was writing poetry. I don't know if he did it often, and it wasn't something he shared with me. But when the mood struck him he was quite the wordsmith, and I imagine he set about it with the same quiet determination to turn out something worthwhile that he demonstrated in every other area of his life.

This, this is rough.

~~~
I might not say I am my fathers son.
Different hair, different nose, very different life.

But children have come into that life and I have found
that reflexively I speak as he did. Same words, same tone.
So it is I come to reflect, what other considered virtues
might have been seeded and set by that quiet example.

You and I Dad, we never bonded over stories of your youth.
And my sisters got the farming genes, I became a townie.
Yet you were a constant presence, just a call away.

Supportive even when we differed,
Providing considered advice when asked.
Prepared to let us make our own way in life
But supporting us any way you could.

Willing to help anyone when the opportunity arose,
I believe you showed me that there are
two sides to every story.
That life requires those with different abilities
working together to make our worlds go around.
How to listen to points of view outside my own.
And to leave things better than I found them.
Not to be afraid of new ways of doing things,
To focus on getting the job done,
And to be steady in the face of a crisis,
Not being concerned with recognition for these achievements.

It's not possible to talk about you for long Dad
without bringing Mum into it as well.
How deeply you cared for her and she for you has become more obvious
as time has passed, and perhaps as I have grown to understand
That a person could not have greater examples
of two people who worked
to support each other through thick and thin.
I know life wasn't easy on the farm, you and she (and the grandparents before)
Have worked harder than I ever have or will.
And I know the fruits of your labour given freely, have shaped my course more than anything else.

Although much of your time was spent managing the generations of sheep and deer
Our family was your true life's work.

And I know you felt that maybe you didn't spend enough time with us when we were young.
But you made up for that with your grandchildren, the photos have captured
Just how much of a bond you had with the young. Even three then not yet officially part of the family
Quickly adored and respected you when you met.

I've said it before and I'll say it again,
the more I learn of other peoples parents
the more grateful I am for my own.

You weren't big on emotion Dad, not in front of us anyway. I can count on one hand the times I recall you visibly upset.
And I was responsible for some of that. But I never recall you holding onto anger.

So although the time has come when we can no longer sit and chat
and the end came too quickly, I never got to say these words to him.

Today I stand here and say, I am proud to be the son of my father.

~~~

Thank you Dad. I miss you.

Embedding doesn't seem to be working, but there is a memories slideshow here

Comments

[nishatalitha]

I'm very sorry for your loss.

That's a lovely poem about him.

[marsden_online]

Thank you :)