My Dad

My Dad passed away a couple of months ago. He was 84 and died of a very aggressive cancer (Metastatic Angiosarcoma, if you're interested). I know I'm biased, but Stan Sydenham was a great man. Everyone liked him and he was the very embodiment of 'the life and soul of the party'. I loved him very much, I was very proud of him, and I miss him a great deal.

Two months after his death, the thing that really strikes me is that I feel I've, all of a sudden, grown up. I'm not in the first flush of youth (or even the second), but I now realise that I've spent the past 30ish years of my adult life, thinking that I'm still a young man and my Dad will always be there to help and support me. Now that he's not around, the added responsibility I have of being there for my Mum has put an extra wrinkle in my brow and a few extra gray hairs at my temples. I'm sure this is the normal reaction to a loved one's death, I'm sure, over time, life will settle into it's post-Stan normality, but just at the moment I feel every one of my 52 years.