Farewell to my father-in-law
My father-in-law passed away yesterday. At the time of his passing, he was 84 years old. Quite how he managed to live so long and with such good humour is nothing short of miraculous.
He spent months in hospital when my wife was just a little girl because he had contracted tuberculosis. He lost one kidney and the other began to slowly wither and die. He suffered two heart attacks, and bounced back from both. This time last year, he was in hospital again for almost a month with a severe chest infection. But he shook that off too. So when he was admitted to hospital again about three weeks ago, everyone expected him to do what he always did. To pull through.
We saw him on Friday and he was in good spirits. It felt like he had turned a corner. But on Saturday, we were told there was nothing more than could be done. And on Monday morning, in an instant, he was gone.
I met Phil (his name was Philip but everyone called him Phil) when I was just 19 years old. He told my then girlfriend and now wife that I had “a good firm handshake”.
Somewhere along the line, I realised that he only wanted the best for his precious daughter and he realised I wanted the same thing. So we bonded.
We played golf together every Sunday morning, come rain or shine. We even played in the snow once. We were both terrible. Truth be told, the golf was just an excuse to enjoy a full English breakfast at the clubhouse. However, he was and is the only person I have ever seen achieve a hole in one in person. And it was entirely by accident.
We were playing a par three hole and he sliced his tee shot off to the right and up a hill. The ball plopped down, thought about it for a second, and then began to trickle down the slope, gathering pace as it did so. It then rolled across the green and dropped neatly into the hole. Two men who were teeing off at the top of the hill performed the world’s smallest Mexican Wave in celebration.
A we walked towards the next hole, I told him that tradition dictated that he should buy everyone in the clubhouse a drink. He said “sod that”. And we skipped breakfast that day.
During his father-of-the-bride speech at our wedding just a few years later, he asked if I knew just how many children my new bride wanted. I laughed, certain he was joking. Three years later, I was father to four children, including a set of twins.
Due to his poor health, he was forced to take early retirement when my children were still in primary school. As a result, he probably did more school runs with my kids than I ever managed. He was a constant presence in their life right up until the day he died. And they idolised him. They still do.
In many ways, he was an ordinary man living an ordinary life. Wife, two kids, ordinary house, ordinary car. But there was so much more to him than that. He had more facets than a cut diamond; which is what he was.
He was an avid reader, a football fan and a music fan with an encyclopaedic knowledge of the Beatles. He was a collector and an amateur historian. He was as good at art as he was bad at golf. And, perhaps his greatest single achievement, he was a superb father, grandfather and great grandfather.
About a year ago, when his remaining kidney was finally giving up the ghost, he was placed on dialysis. Every Tuesday and Saturday afternoon, I would pick him up and deliver him home. The 20-minute car journey back to his house was never once a father-in-law/son-in-law conversation. It was just two blokes, talking rubbish, generally about football. I am going to miss those chats.
Phil’s passing has obviously hit his wife and his two daughters hard. It has hit his seven grandchildren equally hard. But I barely slept last night thinking about him. Yes, he was “just” my father-in-law; my wife’s dad. But he was also someone I had known for more than 40 years. Someone I looked up to; someone I spent a huge amount of time with.
But that’s not it. The reason I am feeling the loss so acutely today is because Phil gave me the greatest gift I have ever received. He entrusted me with his youngest daughter. And that daughter gave me the four other greatest gifts of my life — My children.
And for that, I shall be forever grateful.
I am glad that his suffering has come to an end. But I am so sad that he’s no longer here.
So Phil. You rest now. And don’t worry about your daughter. I’ll take it from here.
