My Dad.... I cannot put enough emphasis on how utterly devastated I am. Life will never be the same again. I feel robbed. Robbed of happy times and so, so angry that my Dad had to endure such an horrific illness, contracted through working hard and just doing his job. He’d never been ill, always young at heart, body and mind and he still should be today. I hope I can convey the passion and love I feel for my Dad and how I know his love and passion for me was just as strong, even stronger. Glasgow born, during the Clydebank blitz, Dad always maintained that Hitler was trying to kill him and I suppose he was right. Beginning life in a bomb shelter, with brother and best friend Danny, devoted mother Mary, second mother Auntie Annie, and Uncle Steve. Dad said he had a happy childhood. He set sail with the merchant navy and saw the world. My god there was no where he hadn’t been. And this made for the most fascinating and hilarious tales. His knowledge was astounding. I feel like there was nothing he didn’t know. He was meticulously smart and always the best dressed, immaculate. All his life he has only worn one aftershave, Aramis. I am wearing it today but it just doesn’t smell the same. Extremely particular and organised; his wardrobe is like something from the film ‘sleeping with the enemy’. Dad was hilarious, no matter where we went or what we did, we laughed at each other. We had a ball. We’d go on pub crawls and play pool. I’m left handed and he used to tell me that he was going to buy me a left-handed cue….I’m still waiting for one. We were lucky; he took me, Louise and Mum to Disney World many times, staying in the best places. But he LOVED it too. He’d be singing ‘zipperdy doo dah’ for weeks before. He loved to take me shopping and buy me nice things. He worked extremely hard for his money and always wanted to share his fine success. He was very proud of his achievements and rightly so. On our own, he took me to Portugal on business and London and we had a scream; we ate the best food in the best restaurants; we could talk ‘til the cows came home. Extremely protective but never overbearing, he ALWAYS fought my corner. God help anyone, who dared to cross me. He did NOT suffer fools gladly and NOTHING fazed him. Dad treated me with extreme care; I was, as he called me, ‘his wee baby’. My first drive on a motorway was all the way to Gatwick for my new job. Dad reassured ‘just remember no one is trying to hit you’…’how the hell do you know’, I replied. Pragmatic in nature and extremely wise, Dad had the solution for everything. I went to him with countless problems over the years and he would always know what to do. Together with Uncle Danny, he remodeled mine and Tom’s first flat from a shell, knocking down and building walls, fitting kitchens and bathrooms. You name it they did it and it was perfect. He was the best dad a girl could have, my hero. When I was little, he had a couple of nicknames for me; one was ‘Small Fry’. The other was ‘Ma Wee Soukitouri’ – I told him he made me sound like a Japanese takeaway, which he thought was hilarious. He adored my curly hair. Dad, I wear this hat today for you, you will know why. Dad never made me rush, ‘just take your time’ he would say. He never placed any demands or expectations. He never nagged and he would NEVER EVER judge me. He always let me be me and he loved THAT me no matter what. He was like a walking talking A-Z. Sat Nav had nothing on him. I would call him from Central London to ask for directions. He could instantly reel off exactly which route to take. More recently Louise and I nicknamed him ‘Sat Dad’. But Dad, what you have actually left me is the maps to life; which way to go, the courage to cope with unexpected hazards and how to deal with anyone who dares to cross my path. You’ve built me a picture and although I am certain I will CRAVE your help in future you have laid the foundations for me to follow. I cannot put a value on what you have taught me, it’s completely priceless. I am extremely lucky and wholly privileged to be your daughter. I was so happy that you were there to walk me down the aisle, just weeks ago. I couldn’t be more grateful. Dad, I cannot thank you enough for waiting for me to come home. My most recent word to describe Dad is ‘stoic’; by definition; ‘A person who can endure pain or hardship without showing their feelings or complaining’. Colette, thank you for taking such great care of him. He was in pain and suffering, I guess for some time. He never showed it, ever brave. He NEVER wanted us to worry. Even during his final hours he ensured that the doctors spoke to me and Louise properly and made us aware of what was happening. Jim Gannon, ‘Daddy’ you are and will always be an absolute, complete and utter legend. And now as a further gesture of my love I will place a Thistle on your coffin for you to keep and cherish just like I will keep and cherish my memories of you forever.
Posted on: Sat, 29 Jun 2013 10:08:21 +0000
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