Will you regret those things not said or done?
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A strange sensation entered the room, like a shadowy figure roaming around outside emitting a strong and eerie energy. I was in bed and told my partner what I was feeling. She simply replied someone might be going to die.
Two days later, I was in bed. It was morning, I was home sick; no one else was there. I head the sound of knocking on the front door, but could not awake. I sense birds flying in the room. I finally awoke and went to the door—there was no one there.
I received a phone call a week later while I was at work. My mother said your father just died at the local doctor’s surgery and he was still there. I staggered away crying, and crying was not easy for me.
I caught a cab to the medical clinic and asked to see my father. They would not let me see him; it was 40 years ago and people were still strange and uptight about death.
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I was the youngest of four children and did not have much say or knowledge about death rituals, ceremonies and neither did anyone else. It was a very minimalist affair, poorly done, rather shameful.
I got very drunk at the wake and drove home. I nearly got arrested for threatening another driver while a crowd gathered around. I escaped and got home and vomited my guts out. I just stood there, feeling a strange sense of relief, as if a big question mark had lifted from my forehead. Big decisions were to come.
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Dad was the first child of an Irish catholic couple. His father was the second generation of an Irish engineer who had emigrated to Australia. His mother was the third generation of an Irish pig thief, transported as a convict to Australia. Dad’s father, a teacher in a small country town, was dying of Tuberculosis and isolated in a tent in the families’ backyard.
Dad was sent to Sydney to stay with relatives to finish his education. He had won a scholarship to one of Sydney’s best schools, but after his father died, he had to leave school early to work and help support his mother and the three younger children.
He joined the public service and rose quickly and at 40, was the second of charge of the Government stores, which purchased supplies for all government activities. His department was the third biggest buyer in Australia and so had a big influence in the marketplace and with a wide range of companies.
At the outbreak of WWII, his boss was seconded to the Federal government to help set up a Federal supply department to resource the war effort. My father was left in charge and stayed in charge till he retired 30 years later.
He was an intelligent and competent man, but the stories I heard second hand of how others felt about him were negative. He was seen as overly diligent and a tyrant. Two of his seconds were reported to have nervous breakdowns.
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It was said that at his upmarket golf club, his main social activity, that the men who drank with him were not true friends, but men whose jobs required them to grease the wheel for continuing government contracts. He was an ethical man and not corrupt but in those days, golf clubs were a popular sales and marketing environment. So when he retired, they no longer drank with him, as he was not all that popular.
A lot of this information came from my mother who was pretty prejudiced towards my father, and I later learned to discount some it. But at the time those were the stories that influenced me.
In retirement, he was a lonely man. His tipple was a large strong rum every night—his self-medicating as they say now. He often went to sleep in his chair watching TV.
Boat building was a passion for him. His last boat was a 27-foot plywood yacht; he finished it shortly before his death. I sensed he had no one to sail it with. After a partial stroke a few years prior he had taken up jogging to keep fit. On the day of his death, he got pains in his chest while jogging and went to the doctor. They kept him waiting in the waiting room. He had a massive heart attack while sitting in the waiting room and died.
I did a lot of thinking after his death, reflecting on dad’s life and mine. Locked into his career in a large government department, successful career-wise but retired a lonely man, friendless and unloved in his marriage.
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At 28, I was a research manager of a small economic consulting company. I realized that I knew that I could be successful in that world and no longer needed to prove that to myself or others. I looked ahead to 50 and saw myself fat, wealthy and owning a yacht. My response was, I am out of here. I went sideways in working life and kept exploring a whole range of work and personal quests.
I am 70 now and have explored a great range of things—welding, blacksmithing, construction, baking, welfare projects, massage, counseling, and writing.
I loved my Dad and was sad about his life. I miss that in those days sons and fathers did not have much emotional self-expression. Looking back I regret that. I did not wish to be like him in his work and relational life. Yet now I realize that the apple does not fall far from the tree. Around fifty percent of our major personality traits are heritable, that is influenced by the genes of our parents, so as much as we would like to move away from their life story, our genes are from them.
I have many friends and feel much loved by them. Yet I live alone and am relatively isolated and without an intimate partner. Things may change but that’s how it is at the time of writing this story. I feel a sense of irony around that one.
There is a moral to my story and I leave you with this:
Five things to think about when your dad dies.
1. – If you can see that you and dad can debrief your relationship . don’t let your dad go to the grave with conversations still waiting to happen.
2. – Give your dad a great send off, a celebration worthy of his living, good or bad. Remember how we honor our fathers is important to us and lets others see how it can be done. Everyone notices.
3. – Dad dying can open big life choice doors and create shifts in awareness. Understand that and seek help from friends mentors and therapists to work through that. It can be a very vulnerable time.
4. – You can always chat with your dad after his death. All the ancient spirits are with us, even if it is imagination it helps. Try it you might be surprised.
5. – Your children will love to hear about their grandfather. Keep a scrapbook of photos and stories and tell your kids about them. It’s important to them.
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Photo: GettyImages
Thanks paddy and thanks tom for your heart felt reply, very moving. Im touched paddy, knowing you a bit, this offers me insight into your world. I feel saddened to hear the story of your father, and uplifted by you’re invitation at the end. Thankyou mate, I’m touched. I’m 38 years old and my father is still very alive. I’m one of I imagine a very marginal group of men who can say with certainty that if my father died today, there’s nothing between us but Deep love and care. Wasn’t always that way. Lots of reflective work, lots of… Read more »
Hi Paddy. It’s interesting how we see things later in life. My dad passed away when I was 20 and I still miss him a lot. Yes, I speak to him frequently. Sometimes at his grave site, sometimes in the car or when I’m home and the house is quiet. there are a lot of things that I regret, things that my foolish mind blocked me from acting on. He was a great man that I hid my eyes from seeing how great he was. I am the youngest of 7 and I resented my siblings for having adult relationships… Read more »
Thanks Tom. I enjoyed reading your words in response to mine. Your comment helps motivate me to keep writing, to keep passing the stories on. Paddy