fang_uk

to friends one and all, new and old, come find me on facebook!

i rarely check in here anymore, but i often find myself wondering how many of you are and what is going on in your lives. i would very much like to keep in touch with those of you i forged regular connections with.

i should get back into the habit of using livejournal once again, but unfortunately i succomed to the devil and got sucked into the farcebook void - it's just so much easier for me, although i do wonder just how fast paced life will eventually become that we'll all have time for nothing anymore...

anyway, if you'd like to find me - i'm here:
http://www.facebook.com/sklavenhund

on the off-chance facebook prevents you from adding me directly, fire me a message there. i hope all is well in your worlds. x

ps: please note, when/if you add me, please add a note with your livejournal name so i know who you are, otherwise i may ignore it, not realizing!

somehow i just know you'll get a kick out off this ;)

http://iampaddy.com/spell/

enjoy.

- fang

I wrote this a week ago and have been fine-tuning it ever since, hoping it would come across as I intended. My father didn't like a lot of fuss, and the service was crafted to reflect this and focus on his life rather than 25 minutes of hymnals and 5 minutes about the man.

I will freely admit I was absolutely bloody terrified of reading this in front of my peers, people I had not seen for years - even a few people I was not so fond of, and right until the very last moment, it was still 50/50 as to whether I was going to read it myself, but read it I did, and I'm so glad I did now, because I can look back and say I did it right.

My brother and I helped carry the coffin into the Chapel, as well as back out to the hearse, and we also lowered his casket into his final resting place. The original plan right up until the very last minute was that my brother and I would simply carry the casket into the Chapel - but I guess we both knew without saying anything to each other that these few things would be the final things we could ever do for him. In my mind, it was all seemed rather beautifullly symbolic really - this was the man that had carried us upon his shoulders all these years, now here we were, carrying him when he needed us the most.

Anyway, I just wanted to share what I read in front of a hundred or so people today with you.

Thank you to those of you who sent kind words of support, and offered up prayers for my father and my family - particularly Derek DaSilva and Silas for imparting words of experience and wisdom that helped soften and cushion the blow with a little perspective.





Thank you all for coming.

As you can imagine, this is pretty tough, so forgive me if I falter along the way.
____________________________________________________

I stand before you today, no longer a boy...but finally a man.

I say 'finally', because like all children, secretly deep down inside we all crave for those days of little or no responsibility - but soon enough, the time comes when those things no longer matter so much and we focus inwards on the things that money can't buy.

There is a saying: "Time is on our side"...but time is not our friend. Time is something to be revered and respected, but no...it is not our friend.

The only point that time finally becomes our friend, is when we lose something valuable and precious to us - THEN time becomes our healer, and our confidante in the dead of night.

My father was not always the easiest man to get along with, he could be stubborn, proud, blunt and was fiercely independant all his life to the very end. For instance, the very first time the District Nurse came to visit him, she found him hanging out of the upstairs window by one hand cleaning the windows - with not a care in the world, as if this were the most normal thing any man with a terminal illness and whom had suffered numerous heart attacks and strokes could be found doing. He was never a man who would put off doing tomorrow what could be done today.

And yet, it were these very things I feel that helped him find the strength to keep going these past 6 months. He was a fighter, no doubt about it, and that fiery Irish blood and pride coursed thru him - not to mention his incredible propensity for swearing so much that he could make a Sailor blush.

Then of course, there are the memories I have that range from the sublime and ridiculous to the wonderful - resting my head on his shoulder as he would carry me to bed as a child, or sitting on his lap as a boy letting me operate his Digger, or hanging out of my window every morning waving him off to work - becoming upset if I had missed my chance to do so, as well as working alongside him many times growing up. He instilled in me values about work that I use to this day, and I'm sure some of my collegues wished I would slow down sometimes - but I give my all to my job and I ensure that I earn every single penny of my salary. I guess i'm a 'chip off the old block' in that respect.

And of course, who of us can forget Dad's dancing?

Well, I SAY 'dancing' - I'm still not quite sure what that little shuffle and jig was. And to be honest, I often thought it looked more like he had a ferret down his pants. Many a time you could find me hiding underneath the nearest table with a horrified look on my face. But how I wish I could dance with him now...just one more song.

My father was a very generous man in so many ways - he would have freely given you the shirt off his back and want for nothing in return if he knew it would help - I know all of you here can attest to that fact in some way shape or form. For example, this was a man who once insisted on driving me to Newcastle when I needed to move there for college - a good 6 hour drive. After helping me move my belongings into the 12th storey of a block of flats, he would not accept my offer of staying overnight to rest, hopped back in his car, and then proceeded to drive another 6 hours all the way back home to be with my mother.

Why?

Because he was my Dad.

My father and I had a pretty tempestuous relationship at times - I often wonder if we were really more alike than either of us cared to admit. Of course there were the usual bumps along the road as I grew up, and whilst I think my father never fully understood my lifestyle or indeed some of the choices I made, I know that in the last few years we had found balance, and I was happy with that - I like to think we both were, and I know that at the end of the day, all he wanted was for us to be happy. I was never sure as I grew up if he was proud of me, it remained 'the great unspoken'. But I hope I've made him proud today.

One of my fathers sisters commented to me recently that he "always did the right thing" - sure, he was not without his faults, he was human like all of us, but when it came to his family, he never faltered. We may not have ever been 'well off', but we were comfortable and along with my mother, he provided us all with a stable upbringing and a loving home to come home to - he was SO proud of that house, and particularly his garden. I know that it frustrated him no end the last few months in not being able to potter around the house or the garden and do the things he enjoyed doing.

The song you will all soon hear reflects these things, as well as what I imagine he often thought as he grew weary of this world. It provides us with such great comfort knowing that the last thing he was aware of was that he was in HIS front room in HIS house. It's what he wanted so very much.

All of these things bring us solace now.

These memories make us smile, and no doubt some will make us cry - but all of them are ours to savour, and they are treasured alongside the good, as equally precious.

I would personally like to take this opportunity on behalf of the family to express our heartfelt thanks to all of you whom have extended such great support, warmth and care these past few weeks, and indeed...months. But now a new period of healing begins, and new paths are sought.

I hurt along with the rest of you, and I ache for just one more moment with him. But what I have not lost are the memories he left me with and the lessons he taught me - as long as I have those, he's not gone.


I thank you Dad, for these gifts.


He was Patrick M*****.


He was my father.


Godspeed.

All these months I've been wanting to sit down and just...talk to someone, but nobody has been listening or paying attention to the signs, and short of waving my arms frantically and shouting at the top of my lungs, I did all I could. So here it is, this will have to suffice instead.

Sadly, my father passed away thursday, 28th January at 6:25pm gmt.

My father had been battling lung cancer since being diagnosed late 2008. Along with this, he had Asbestosis also, which really didn't help matters.

As some of you who know me personally may remember, last June my father fell seriously ill after travelling to Ireland with my Ma to stay with my best friend, Seamus. I was due to fly out on vacation 24 hours later, it was literally by the grace of the Gods that I was contacted when I was, as I hate to think of how hard it would have been to get hold of me once I'd flown out. I obviously flew straight to Ireland and to the hospital, and spent a month pulling shifts at his bedside (my first alone was 29hours straight) with family there and fighting red tape and beauracratic assholes in England who wouldn't lift a finger to help get him back - in the end we had to do it all, arrange it all and fund it all ourselves.

It's been one hell of a start to 2010 - sadly, Seamus (my best friend of the past 17+ years) passed away on new years day, peacefully at home surrounded by family - just as he wished. Seamus' real name was Jim Hutton, and he was Freddie Mercury's partner for the last 7 or 8 years of his life. We met back in 1993 and we became very close. He was more like an Uncle to me and was always there to offer advice and support me thru what was a hard time in my life - I loved him dearly, I can't begin to express how much. Back around 2002/3 I introduced my parents to him and they got on like a house on fire, and they ended up spending more time over in Ireland than I did the past 5 years or so. He was such a great help in them coming to terms with their son being Gay - for here was my father, laughing and joking and eventually becoming best friends with a gay man who was his equal - I never thought I would have lived to see the day, such was Seamus' propensity for making people lighten up, and listen to life awhile.

When my Da fell ill, it was whilst over in Ireland staying at Seamus' house, and everyone rallied 'round to lend their help and support to my Ma and my brother and I. The big irony in all of this was that HIV didn't take Jims life in the end, it was lung cancer - an even bigger irony being that Seamus had the same cancer in the same spot as my Da did. Bizarre, cruel, fate - I just don't know. I do know that it was ironic and for better or worse health-wise, it really bonded them.

When I was over there for a month due to the whole situation with Da back last june/july, there was one day when the house was unusually quiet and we were able to sit down and have a chat - and he gave me 'THE chat' - he basically told me then and there that this would most likely be the last time we'd see each other. It was hard to take at the time, but I had to let him say what he needed to say and I look back on that now and it gives me great comfort along with all the many many amazing memories we shared - I'm blessed and thankful more than I am sad which kind of surprised me. Such a brave man. A gentleman and a someone I feel immensely privileged to have been able to consider family.

Once we had managed to get my father back home mid July last year, he spent his time pretty much confined to the downstairs area of the house, as climbing the stairs often proved too much for him, yet there were days when he would insist in that own stubborn and firecly independant way of his, that he wished to go upstairs for a bath, or to wash and shave - it was his way of retaining some sense of independance and self-respect, I realised that, but it was hard to watch nonetheless. About a month ago that stopped and he admitted that he couldn't do that anymore, it was just too much.

Even though he was on constant Oxygen 24/7, about 2 weeks ago he had started finding it harder to breath, and would often be trying to catch his breath and towards the end in the last weeks could often be found with a hand-held fan in front of his face and a bigger fan at his side trying to encourage air flow. It was so fucking tough to watch, even eating was becoming a real trial for him, but he retained his dignity right to the very end. I'm so proud of him. There was really nothing we could do apart from try our best to keep him calm, comfortable and that we were only ever steps away at the most if needed.

On that final thursday I spent a good 3-4 hours sat on my Da's hospital bed that we had installed in our front room last July, and I held his hand and we watched an old John Mills movie, a documentary about the African outback, and an old re-run of Dynsasty that happened to be on. He was lucid and conversational - he was still DAD. And although he'd declined somewhat in the past few weeks, he was very much aware of his surroundings, able to hold short conversations and for all intents and purposes, seemed in good spirits even if he was growing increasingly tired. I don't know, maybe I/we were not willing to accept the signs for what they were and figured that as he was always a fighter, he'd still be here today...tomorrow....next week - he was DAD, right? He'd always be around... I gave him a kiss, a hug and told him I loved him and that I would see him later, I turned around and I left for work.

Not two hours later, and he was gone.

I received a phone call from my Ma sounding beside herself with worry and quite obviously upset informing me an ambulance was on its way and he was unresponsive and she thought that "this is it". I remained at work as I felt that until I knew for sure what the next move was going to be, it would be wasting time to go home and find nobody there as they had taken him to the hospital - I was about 15 minutes walk from the hospital, so figured it best to stay put and then go wherever I was needed at a moments notice.

By the time I got to the hospital he had already passed on. He had a heart attack in the ambulance and they were unable to recussitate him. My father was pronounced dead at 18:25gmt.

Ironically I had been looking forward to some time off work to regroup and relax at home, as Thursday was to have been my final shift, and I had booked 10 days holiday from work to enjoy it but also be home and just not think about work for awhile. I never saw this coming. I - just - never - saw - it - coming.

I'm thankful it was quick - just like Seamus he really was really one of the lucky ones - we've all seen cancer decimate thru our friends and family in some way shape or form - and we all know how vile it can be to a person and their dignity - my Da got what he wanted - to be at home, not in a hospice or a hospital but in a place he knew, surrounded by the people and things he loved. I know for a fact too that if he were here now, or able to speak for himself - he would also say: "well, at least that fucking disease didn't get me!" and flip it the finger.

I am truly thankful I said what I said and did what I did before I left for work, I didn't want to see him at the hospital - I wanted to hold on to that last memory of him, how warm he felt to me when I hugged him, the bristles of his facial hair against my face as I kissed him goodbye. How he patted me on the back reassuringly and, as ever, affectionately said "ok boy". I still have to pinch myself how lucky I was to have those last few precious hours with him, even though I was unaware that that day would be our last together.

SO very lucky.

Thursday night back at home was hard - keeping Ma away from the house whilst I cleared the front room of the detritus that remained from where the ambulance crew had been working on my father on the floor, the place looked like a bomb had hit it - that's when I let it out, that was tough. Talking of tough, I never ever want to hear the noise that emmanated from my Mother as she cried herself to sleep in my life again - it's unlike anything I've ever heard or want to again, such a deep painful cry of sorrow that fills you with a cold sense of hopelessness. All I could do was keep checking on her, hugging her, and just being there for her.

I have spent most of the past week trying not to be dazed by it and focusing on getting things in order - phoning the Death Registrar, Funeral Directors, Coroners Office, Arranging the service, Solicitor, Doctors, Care Nurses etc - it's dizzying the amount you have to do. It also ensured that I could take this weight off my Ma's back and let her grieve and do whatever she needed to do without this added stress - and also for me to focus on something rather than falling to pieces - I can do my grieving later, right now I am needed and I need to be the backbone. But for me, the worst times are at night - especially in bed, where I guess because I have nothing further to do that can be of any constructive value, it hits me and hits me hard, and I have to curl up into a ball and scrunch my eyes tight and try and make the thoughts I have of him led there, go away.

I spent most of yesterday finalising an Eulogy - I just hope and pray I have the cojones to stand up and read it myself next wednesday. I'm proud of what I've written - I just want to make him proud on the day. My brother and I are going to be pallbearers, I wanted to do it because I couldn't bear the idea of him being carried away on the shoulders of strangers. Not only that, but the more I've thought about it, the more it seems perfect in a really symbolic way - all my life my Father carried the family upon his shoulders, now we can return the favour when he needs us most.

I started this with the general idea of just letting people know about the emotional tsunami that has ripped thru my life this past 10 days or so, but I think that it's probably turned into more of an exercise in just 'getting stuff out' and down. So forgive me if it's rambling etc.

I guess I just needed to vent.

yeah, i really should really get 'round to doing that blogging thing...

*ahem*

hope you're all well.

love,
fang x

ps: the project close to my heart now has its own living breathing space online. 2010 is going to be busy busy busy putting that site together properly. but for now...it's a start.

http://www.TheAEF.org

"We drink too much, smoke too much, spend too recklessly, laugh too little, drive too fast, get too angry, stay up too late, get up too tired, read too little, watch TV too much, and pray too seldom. We have multiplied our possessions but reduced our values. We talk too much, love too seldom, and hate too often.

We’ve learned how to make a living but not a life. We’ve added years to life, not life to years."
~ George Carlin

is thinking it's time to get back to LJ and start blogging properly again.

Leona Lewis performed on last nights edition of 'the X-Factor' here in Blighty, and she was nothing short of stunning.

This is one of my favorite songs too, so to see her make it her own was something else.

PLAY LOUD.

He says what needs to be said - no more, no less.
Stirring stuff.