fathers

I don't think I've called you 'father' in years. I adopted the monkier of 'Chib' for you after years of cleaning chimneys together. It got shortened and distorted from 'chimney sweep', didn't it? But it stuck. My nicknames always stick.

The point is, you're gone now, and everything you are or were has been added up: father, friend, protector, provider, verbal sparring partner, simultaneously my biggest supporter and critic, grandfather to my children and so much more. And all that you were is suddenly taken away. For such an unassuming guy, the void you left behind is incredible.

I thought the worst of it was watching you in pain. Suffering, declining. Your legs and arms getting thinner until the skin wrinkled around your joints. Your hacking cough that would overtake speech and leave us unable to talk. And those dreadful, painful sores that covered your tongue because of the oxygen. One of your sisters put it brilliantly in the obituary column: "a short tragic death, suffered with dignity" or words to that effect.

And for a brief while after you died, we were consumed with arrangements: wakes, funerals and paperwork. Still are. I felt strangely disconnected from your body in the coffin. You looked overdressed in that suit. I could see discolouration starting to creep in. I often wonder that people find comfort in visiting graves when the person they loved is decaying beneath their feet. What strange customs we have. All of it reminded me that you were gone.

My father died at roughly 5:30am on Thursday 25 June 2009. Later that day, Michael Jackson and Farrah Fawcett would follow him, a fact I’m sure he would not care about.

As you know, he died from lung cancer and the weakening side-effects of chemotherapy which left him vulnerable to pneumonia. This is the story of his final journey, the discovery of his cancer and those short, final two months which led to his end.

I read an article today about world birth rates and the fact that the amount of males born is signigicantly higher than the amount of females. It made for very interesting reading, and pointed out that this skewed birth rate is causing problems in some countries (such as China) where men are beginning to find that there just aren't enough women to go around.
Reading the piece reminded me of my feelings and concerns when I found out that I was expecting my sons.

When I was growing up I always imagined a family with at least 2 or 3 daughters, I couldn't imagine what it would be like to have a son.

When I found out that I was pregnant with a boy during my second pregnancy I was slightly nervous. I wondered if I could parent a boy, I imagined a crazy toddler turning into a surly young man who is conditioned to bottle up his emotions and remain difficult to reach.

Everyone I spoke to with sons disagreed. Each and every person told me that wee girls are much harder work, they want to rule the house, while boys are much more placid and easy going.

To date my experience has been immensely positive and I can't believe I was ever worried. My three children are all precious to me, it makes no difference what gender they happen to be.

I think my concerns must have stemmed from the fact I have two sisters very close in age to me, my brothers are a lot younger, one has yet to reach his teenage years. As my father was not around for most of my childhood, my experience of family life was very much a female orientated one.

I am lucky to have an excellent husband who is very much involved in the childrens lives. This will hopefully come in useful in those teenage years, when embarrassing topics have to be broached, and my son may not actually want my input into his love life, or romantic crises. And I am now wise enough to realise that my daughter is unlikely to want to confide in me about her first love or hot crushes either. Surly teenage behaviour is not limited to the males of our species, I can all too well remember the trouble I gave my own mother!

My sister is currently 5 months pregnant and strangely, experiencing exactly the same worries as I did, way back when. I am trying to give her the benefit of my experience, but I know that once the baby is born, no matter what the sex is, she will realise for herself, what a precious gift a baby is, and that sex is irrelevant to the love you feel for that person who is piece of you.

I discovered a terrific thread on Ask Metafilter that asks "What does it take to be a Dad?"

For me, my father spent a lot of time working to make ends meet, but from the hazy childhood memories I do have, we did spend quite a bit of time together.

Having said that, during my teenage years, I strove to be the exact opposite of my father. I hated his smoking and vowed I would never fall into that trap (even now). He worked as a bricklayer and was adamant that I should educate myself and avoid this kind of hard labour.

Back then, he had an occassional bad temper, but he's mellowed in later years. Unfortunately, I've inherited the volatility.

However, I'll always remember the Saturdays. On Saturday, I used to help out as he cleaned chimneys around the town, talked to old ladies and supped cups of tea. Those were great days...

I just came across a great post on the Digito Society blog, that references a study carried out to determine what dads like to receive on fathers day.

One third of fathers said that their number one gift preference would be a greeting card, and 14% would like a home cooked meal.

Thank God for that! Gerard has nothing to complain about then. He received not one but two cards. One store bought, one the children made themselves. His breakfast in bed was home cooked, it may have only been fruit and porridge, but it still counts.

In lieu of a huge gift, I would like instead to publicly (and belatedly)thank my husband for being the best dad I know. I appreciate you so much, our kids are going to grow up to be better people because you are so active in their life. One day they will realise how lucky they are!