Month: April 2026

I’m almost 63 years old, and therefore I count myself lucky that until very, very recently, I still had both my parents.

Dad passed away on 19 March and his funeral service will take place a few hours after this post is published.   He was 90 years of age, and hadn’t been in great physical health for quite a while, although his brain and mind remained razor-sharp until the end.  In many ways, it was quite remarkable that he lived such a long life given that back in 1991, at the age of 56, he was diagnosed with lung cancer (the result of having been a very heavy cigarette smoker since he was in his teens), and went through major surgery to remove the diseased organ.

He made a full recovery, learning to live and function with one lung, with the operation minimising the risk of the cancer spreading elsewhere.  His illness caused him to retire from work early, and my mum did likewise.  Financially, they were fine as both had made good plans in terms of pension schemes, and for the next 30 years or so, they enjoyed life to the full as much as their ages and health would allow them.

Back in 1991, the surgeons didn’t, and indeed couldn’t, say how long dad would live, advising that everyone reacted differently to the surgery.  But his previously active lifestyle proved to be a huge help, and his body adjusted quickly to his breathing capacity being restricted.  To everyone’s delight, he was back on the golf course within a matter of months, and out and about doing his singing and dancing in the pubs and clubs that he and my mum and their pals frequented in Glasgow. Oh, and then he was away overseas on holidays again.

About seven years ago, however, he really began to slow down as his body aged. The lung capacity issue led to him having mobility issues and affected his leg movements. Some days were better than others, but increasingly, he was unable to get out and about, particularly over the past couple of years, and for the first ever time we could see it having an impact on his state of mind. He was frustrated by it all, but he was determined that he would regain the power in his legs, buying all sorts of specialist exercise equipment that he would use in the hope he would regain some strength.  Mum, who is three years younger than him, took on the role as his named carer in the eyes of the authorities.  Between them, they were determined that dad would remain at home and not go into anywhere for specialist care.

The arrangements worked, albeit chest infections and respiratory issues (including COVID) saw him hospitalised a few times, but only for short spells. The most recent of these came last September when, unfortunately, he was admitted just two days before his 90th birthday which meant we had to cancel the planned party in a local pub. He was back home after a five-night stay and once again in the care of mum.

He was of an age that he was on a regular schedule of check-ups and scans at the local NHS hospital.  One such scan earlier this year, in early February, would show up that he had developed a small cancerous growth in his kidney that was spreading.  His age and the fact he had just one lung meant that there was little that could be done in terms of treatment. He was given palliative care, at home, with specialist nurses coming in once a week to check on him and advise my mum on how best to look after him.

If he was scared, he didn’t let on.  He said he wasn’t in too much pain – more a discomfort – and his medication was nothing stronger than over the counter tablets.  No timescale was asked for, nor was any given.  I don’t think any of us wanted to contemplate him facing a slow, lingering and what ultimately would likely be an undignified deterioration over a period of months, but it was something we were prepared to deal with, and dad did accept that at some point, he would need to be put fully in the care of those who knew best and had the experience of dealing with cancer patients.

But things changed unexpectedly on the evening of Thursday 19 March, which was some four weeks after he had been given the diagnosis.  At 8pm, he collapsed at home and passed away almost in the blink of an eye, despite the best efforts of a friend who lived nearby and the paramedics who were there within ten minutes. We are grieving our loss, but it comes with a sense of relief that he died without pain, and at home, with mum being the last person he saw and spoke to.

I’ve been busy over the past two weeks in terms of the funeral and sorting out dad’s estate, with a priority being to make sure that mum’s life can go on as best is can as she faces up to a life alone after nearly 64 years of marriage.  The funeral will, as these things always are, an occasion to reflect and remember, and my hope is that any sad moments find themselves far outweighed by the thoughts of the happy times – that will certainly be the message throughout the eulogy later today at the crematorium.

Talking to the funeral director about various things, and indeed having to go out and buy myself a suit for the occasion, has seen me think a fair bit about one particular video and tune.  I hope you don’t mind me sharing it.

mp3: Bill Wells & Aidan Moffat – The Copper Top

From the album Everything’s Getting Older, released on Chemikal Underground in 2011.

The Copper Top is, indeed, the nearest pub to the crematorium in the town in which Aidan grew up.  It’s an astonishing piece of writing, to which Bill, best known as a jazz pianist, has written the most perfect and moving piece of music.

RIP Dad.  Thanks for everything.

 

 

JC