The Most Important Man in My Life
David Rogers | 26th April 1939 - 1st November 2019
One year ago today, the most important man in my life passed away.
He had been my rock; always there for me, supporting me, loving me, and helping me in any way that he could.
We had always been very close – from a young child, I’d be following him around, trying to ‘help’ him when he was doing pretty much anything … fitting the heating system at home, building furniture, repairing cars … he was super practical and could turn his hand to anything. He would never ‘just do that’, it had to be done to perfection, more often than not to mum’s irritation.
I’m pretty handy with tools, but I’d always turn to dad when it came to fixing/making/repairing things, because no one could do it like dad could.
After my wife passed away, we grew even closer – he’d spend most of his time at my workshop, helping out, fixing cars, running around for me, and although I sometimes felt guilty (like when he gave himself a hernia pulling a dead car up a hill with me), we both knew that he was as happy as a pig in shit.
He’d been through a few health scares over the last ten years or so, a minor heart attack, skin cancer, and some unmentionables, but he was strong, he was going to live forever.
Around 14 months ago, he was pretty ill, it took quite a few visits to the hospital to get to the bottom of it, and even then, there was some confusion as to exactly what was wrong.
It transpires that he had pancreatic cancer, at this time, he was too old or weak to have an operation (5+ hours on the table, then a massive recovery period – he wouldn’t have got through that), so his only option was to fight it with meds.
His consultant held off with the chemo because dad was doing so well, but one day he just felt ill, ended up in hospital, and never came out. Just less than twelve months after his diagnosis.
Rest In Peace you magnificent old bastard, I love you, miss you, and wish you were still here. #heartbroken again.