Well the crash that I expected for a few years now, finally happened. The passing of my Dad on 22 August.

Fortunately I’d been able to spend some time with him in his last week; and it helped me to see that he was more than ready to go.

He was 82 years old (30,169 days old). He made his mark upon this world, for sure.

The funeral was on 30 August in Inverness and I was also fortunate to have a lot of people there to help and support me, in the lead up to it and on the day itself.

It was a challenge, and if I’m honest, it made me ill, but I’m back home and settled back down and taking some time out. He was sent off well, with a nice eulogy written by me with input from many others, and finalised with agreement from those involved.

I’m back home now and all is on the way to being well. I’m feeling positive about the next chapter of my life, knowing he’s now at peace and has done his job, and left his legacy.

A month or two before I started to draft a reading for him. I tweaked and perfected it. And I as I knew I wouldn’t be able to read it out at the service (through emotions), I recorded it on my iPhone and introduced the recording at the service. All good.

Here are the words to it:

Fly fly brilliant one

Fly, fly brilliant one.
Fly beyond this world.
The softest cloud, the whitest dove.
Upon the wind of everyone’s love.
Past the planets and the stars.
Leave this wondrous world of ours.
Just think of the lives you’ve touched, the stories you’ve told.
And the good memories that we’ll forever hold.

Leave your legacy behind.
We’ve always had you by our side.
But you must go on and escape the confusion and the pain,
And fly again.

Fly, fly, up high.
Fly like your swallows in the sky.
I remember one of your patients called you ‘Dr Magnificent’,
And that’s what you were – magnificent.

So down to earth, caring and a brilliant storyteller.
The brightest star, yet so humble and clever.

You were there for us and so many others.
We’re all so proud of you, and so is your brother.

Fly, fly precious one.
From humble beginnings, as a miner’s son.
You told it like it was, and you related to so many.
You were so talented, happy and friendly.

You became you and you made a real difference.
Take your big smile, happiness and magnificence,
And fly far far away.

Fly like a bird over to the other shore.
Where there is peace forevermore.
We’ll hold our memories tight, Remembering you warmly with a smile.
The sun will rise, the sun will set,
But you we definitely won’t forget.

Fly, fly brilliant one.
Fly where angels sing.
Fly away, now the time is right.
Go now, and find the everlasting light.

Xx

He’s been slowing going for a few years now so I’m more at ease with his passing that I might have been. It’s a relief he’s finally at peace.

My final act for my Dad is to arrange the gift of a memorial bench to the Wick Community. It’ll hopefully be place somewhere along the north cliff path (I know where I’d like it to go, but we just need to sort it).

I was up in Wick for about a week, and I have to say I was blown away by the locals and friends I have up there. I was taken in, supported and encouraged, listened to and I was really uplifted by the stories and generosity of all who helped me / all of those I met.

I moved away when I was 17, in 1997, and have not really looked back since. And I’ve not been up since before lockdown, maybe around 2019. But what a great place Wick is, with people who care.

I’ll take some time out now to recover and reflect, and get back to life down here. Next is the 5km Go Swim Event at Loch Lomond tomorrow morning, then Loch Morlich 3km two weekends later.

Time to chill and settle back in. X

Now that I’m back home, I’ll start a new chapter of my life, knowing that both my parents are gone, but taking comfort in the fact that there are tens of / a hundred people out there who are there to support and help me.

You know who you are. Thank you.