Friday, 27 July 2012

Dad passed away, aged 95, Thursday 26th July, 2012

Dad, aged 90, in 2007

As a bit of a memorial to my dad, who died yesterday, peacefully, in his nursing home in the UK, I would like to re-publish a few of the posts I did about him when I visited my parents in 2007.  Dad is showing some strain in this pic, taken at my mother's 90th Birthday party: she died six weeks later. As you can see, dad's blindness was complete at this stage, so life was very frustrating for him, as he was extremely deaf as well.  Unluckily perhaps for him, being such a practical man all his life, his brain was still sharp.  At the time of these posts, he was still trying very hard to do stuff. If anyone has quirky memories of their own deceased dads, I would love to hear about them..... Meanwhile, I am off to the UK on Tuesday for two weeks. Not looking forward to this trip: too much like the irrevocable end of an era.
Dad’s Pedometer, August 21st 2007
"Great minds think alike".This is only a saying as I don’t think I have a great mind like my dad but we do have things in common, such as Pedometers.  I showed him my blog about ‘Mental Pedometer’ after which he disappeared off to his room, rummaged about in his cupboards for a long time and presented me with an envelope bearing the legend, Pedometer -  Free Gift from Kellogs corn flakes. It transpired that since my dad has become too blind and deaf and generally frail to be allowed out, he tries to walk a certain distance a day - from the kitchen to the front door and back, doing a number of circuits which he tries to measure.  I know to keep out of the way when I hear his walking stick tapping up and down. One day when he had finished  he announced, “I’ve just been to the egg shop!”.  Further enquiry elicited the information that one of his former walks used to be to an egg farm about 200 metres up the road,  He can’t actually use the pedometer himself both because it is very small and his hands are too arthritic to manoeuvre it and also if he did manage to get it onto his waistband, he has to walk bent over so that it would face vertically instead of horizontal and would not make the necessary connection with his hip.  It’s no fun getting old


  1. I am very sorry to hear of the passing of your father. Despite his disabilities, your father sounded like a very interesting and spirited gentleman. I don't believe that he was unlucky to have remained sharp. I had an uncle with Alzheimers that was other wise in very good health. He spent the last 3 or 4 years of his life completely unaware of his own identity or his children. A body that functioned, but with no one home. Losing any function is tragic, but to lose oneself has to be devastating.

    So in this very sad time, remember the good times and give thanks that he was able to live a long and fulfilled life. Also remember to take care of yourself.

  2. Thank you, Sextant. This kind of think is so hard, but none of us can escape.

  3. My condolences. 95 years is a good long run, but it never seems like quite enough in the end.