My dad

I normally try to start each blog post here with a quotation since books by brainy people always have neat quotes so I always hope a good quote might make me seem more cleverer than wot I am. But I couldn’t find any quotes that said anything about my dad and the kind of man he was. Nothing that conveyed quite how I feel about him.

Normally I do my best to make these blog posts funny and I hope, informative. But when I think about my dad, and the way in which he suffered and died, my sense of humour just disappears. There is nothing funny about living and dying with Alzheimer’s. No silver lining. I feel sad and I feel angry that the dad I loved and still love was taken from me in this way. I miss him every single day. It’s just not fair. Good people should not have to suffer and die like this – that should be reserved for gits like Hitler and Stalin – not for decent people like my dad. For me it’s one reason why I’m not religious because if there is a god out there then he/she was a pretty bloody sick sense of humour to kill a good man in this way.

I suppose what makes it harder (if that were possible) is that he died so young – he was diagnosed in his fifties and died at just 66 years of age. And I never really talked to him about this and I feel ashamed about that. But how the hell do you talk about something like this? What do you say? ‘Well, sorry to hear that you’ve got Alzheimer’s dad. Let’s hope you die a natural death before you lose your mind, forget who you are and get doubly incontinent.’ And so we never talked and I feel guilty about this – the feeling that you’ve wimped out, not done enough. I hope he knew that I loved him but I should have told him. But then we aren’t that kind of family – all lovey dovey, hugs and expressions of love. I hug my two daughters and tell them that I love them. I wish I could just hug my dad one last time and tell him that I love him too. To thank him for the great childhood he and my mum gave me – the weekends at the caravan in Askam-in-Furness, the fishing trips, all those holidays when the sun always shone. He would have loved me doing this walk as crazy ideas were one of his specialities.


I am chuffed to bits to announce that I have had two donations via my JustGiving page ( totally £45 quid. So this means two things:
1. I have just £4955 left to raise and,
2. I can’t back out now.

On the accomodation front, I have been kindly offered accomodation for some nights during my walk. If you think you might be able to put me up (or put up with me) for a night, or you know someone who could, please get in touch. If you click on the My Route bit you can see my route and the nights when I’ll need accomodation.


3 thoughts on “My dad

  1. jenspen1961

    Someone posted a photo onto facebook the other day, it was a photo of a bench seat overlooking a beach landscape. The caption said to “Pick one person who you would like to sit here with just one more time” – My answer? My dad. I lost him when I was 15. I am now 53. I will forever miss him. Your walk is awesome….


    1. boisdevie Post author

      I gave a eulogy at my dads funeral. I’m a writer and it was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to write. But it was necessary. In it I said that my dad was like a sailboat just over the horizon. just because you can no longer see it doesn’t mean that it’s not there. My dad lives on in me. You dad lives on in you. So let’s remember them both and celebrate their lives. And how best to celebrate their lives? By making the most of the life they gave us. Good luck with your walk.

      Liked by 1 person


Please feel free to leave a comment

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s