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.
THE NEW VINYL VILLAIN 
Take very special care at this most difficult of times.
Flimflamfan
My friend, very sorry for your loss. It’s four years now since my dad died. Obviously it was even harder for my mother than for me, still is, but it didn’t take all too long for the both of us to realize: the most important thing is that no suffering whatsoever was involved. I fully understand this does not give any comfort to you and your mum today – but I do hope that it will do soon!
My thoughts and best wishes are with you all today, JC.
A lovely tribute and I’m pleased that not only did you get to spend many more years together than you may have expected following the original diagnosis, but that your dad also got to see what a fine son and human being you are.
Thinking of you and your family.❤️
My deepest condolences
I loved my granny more than anything, but it wasn’t until I became an adult that I realized how wise she was and how much she did for me. I hope to see her again someday.
My deepest condolences on the passing of your father, my friend. My thoughts are with you today. You found such beautiful words to describe your father, and in the midst of all this pain, it helps to remember the happy times you were able to share together.
Sorry to hear this sad news JC
My thoughts are with you and your family at this difficult time.
Stay strong.
All the best to you all JC. Love and strength x
Very sorry to hear this JC, take good care of your mother and yourself.
Beautiful piece, JC. I lost my sister to cancer not long after her 60th birthday in 2024 and writing about her was one of the best ways of helping me make sense of it all.
It’s amazing how much strength that generation possess, I’m not sure I’ll cope as well with the rigours of old age if I’m lucky enough to reach my late 80s or 90s.
This reminded me a lot of my own father who passed a few years back.
Thinking of you today, JC. Take care.
Sending you good thoughts JC
Mate, so sorry to hear about this. Deepest condolences to you and your family, in particular your mum. Take comfort in the fact that your dad had a long and, I assume from what you wrote, a happy life. He was clearly a fighter, very determined to live life to the fullest as best he could. Very pleased he didn’t suffer. Love and thoughts from all of us.
Love and support from your friends on the Coast, Jim.
So sorry for your Loss Mate. They teach us great lessons even in how they go. Here’s to your old man.
Lovely words JC. So sorry to hear of your loss. Hope today was a celebration of a life well lived & loved. The sadness will fade, the memories will live on.
My sincere condolences JC. Thinking of you and your family.
A lovely tribute to your dad, and sending my sympathies. Always a shock to lose someone close, particularly a parent. xx
All things considered, it did sound like your dad had a fantastic run and a 64 year marriage is one for the books. That he went quickly and with dignity after a return cancer diagnosis decades following the first one and without a long slow decline is actually a gift. All the best to you and your family in this significant time.
Yes, a time for grieving, to be sure, but 90 years of a life well lived should be celebrated as well. My hope is you and your family can find a smile or two through the tears. I bet that’s what he would have wanted. My best wishes to you all during this difficult time.
Jim – sending my most sincere condolences – what a long rich life and especially after surviving cancer! Hold your dear mum close and take good care of her and she will be reminded of the joyous times you had as a family and they had together. lots of love,
Goldie
Very sorry to hear that new. Condolences to yourself and family. My own dad was diagnosed with lung cancer around the same time as your dad and passed within a year.
A very big thank you to everyone for your kind words, all of which were hugely appreciated.
Just to say that the Funeral Service was everything that the family was hoping for. A remembrance of dad and his life, wonderfully delivered by a celebrant who captured things to perfection with words that were full of warmth and compassion, with the occasional degree of humour that added to things.
I was able to add a few words of my own, during which I said that Dad, without ever realising it did exactly what the late Scott Hutchison of Frightened Rabbit asked for, and that was to ‘Make Tiny Changes to Earth’, and that’s the legacy I intend to continue.
Trust me, it was much easier to say those words knowing the love I was getting from so many wonderful friends across the blogging community.
What a striking tribute to your dad, Jim, and great to hear the celebration of his life went so well. Very best to you and your family.
Sincere condolences to you and your family, JC. Writing about a lost parent softens the loss when you can reflect on a remarkable life and such long survival against the odds, years in which he was able to enjoy the rewards of family and community. I lost my dad in 2015, aged 91, and Mum passed away at the age of 90 almost exactly four years ago. For both of them we of course felt the loss, but saw also two long lives, well lived for which we were all grateful. I hope you too can find the sweet sadness in this moment. Keep on making those tiny changes.
My condolences
Steve McLean