04/06/99

Twenty years ago something life changing happened to me. It was unexpected entirely and changed my entire world view. For a 9 year old boy, that wasn’t great.

I started my evening rather plain and boring. I went to the park just 2 minutes or so from our house that was only 1 minute from the beach. I lived a very happy and sheltered childhood. Friends were never far and family was always around for special occasions. No massive fights, no drama. Nothing. We never had much in the way of money or crazy trips away for our holidays. Just caravans and the lake District for us. We stayed in a flat, on a quiet street, in which we knew and spoke to every single one of our neighbours. Being just a lad I was able to roam the streets safe in the knowledge that everyone knew everyone else and that no harm would come to anyone. We were all content and making do. Some better than others, but equally happy.

It was only 10 days until I turned the big one zero. Whilst at the park with my friends this evening I was telling them about what I was hoping to get for my birthday and how I had always wanted certain things by the time I was ten. I always had this clear vision in my mind that by the time I reached 10 I would know how to ride a skateboard, buy my first pack of bubble gum and head into town with my friends. Funny thing is, I had done all of that by the time I reached these mere days before it was all meant to change. Little did I know, things had been counting down to an even bigger event.

I had got into an argument, nothing major, just a falling out over something trivial and being known to have a temper I stormed off in a huff and made way for home. I was fizzing! I got in and explained quite furiously what had happened to my parents. They most likely comforted me and quickly got me round to shrugging it so we could sit and watch some TV. We did our usual and flicked through the index or Argos catalogue to see if there was anything that caught my eye for my birthday. Bearing in mind that this was 1999. Flicking through the Argos toy section was the height of entertainment at that time. I had pointed at some Simpsons videos that came with a Homer that was wearing a Hawaiian style shirt. My Dad laughed and said something along the lines of “if you continue to be good then you might just get that” my Dad would always get me his own little gift along with everything else. I am but an only child and trust me when I say. I was spoiled. Just in possessions. I never let that get to me though and neither did my parents. I was always extremely grateful. My parents worked super hard for what we got. My Mum in Clerical work, starting in shops and my Dad a ‘Scaffie’ or a Bin Man as most people know it. Working for the cleansing department, if you want to be posh about it. My Dad had taken this job as it afforded him the evening time that he always wanted with his family. My parents had gone through hell and back to have me. So even though he had to work hard, he wasn’t going to miss out on any quality time with his only begotten son. I am so glad this was the case. More time to spend with my best friend. My play mate. My Dad. His job got him home for around 4 or even earlier depending on how heavy or light the load was. That meant he could get home, pick up his son, drop off one of the grandmother’s, who had been on childcare duties throughout the day and pick up his wife, my Mum.

We were working class and we loved it, so long as we were all together. Doesn’t mean we would have turned down a lottery win though. We’re hard working. Not foolish.

The night was ticking on. I was growing tired. My Mum and Dad saw me off to my bunk bed (Bed on top, desk for artsy fartsy business underneath).

I awoke about an hour or two later in desperate need of the toilet. My Dad was running a bath, which he often did before bed. Especially on a Friday night Setting him up for a relaxed weekend. He liked a good soak after a particularly long day or week. One of the few luxuries afforded to him for knocking his pan in every day. I knocked on the door and my Dad let me in. We would often just sit and chat to each other whilst doing our business on the toilet. I was 9. It was boring otherwise. Just sitting in a bathroom hoping to poo anytime soon. We needed company. We just chatted idle nonsense. He told me a couple of stories about when he was growing up, as he often did. Such a unique and interesting storyteller. I finished up and went to bed. He said “Goodnight pal. Love you” I gave him a huge hug and a kiss and replied “Love you too”

I had a dream. This dream was oddly frightening but not terrifying. There was a creature under my bed hammering. He looked mischievous and had an evil presence. He started smacking at my door. He continued to bang. Harder and harder. The door caught fire. The banging got louder and louder.

I woke up.

The door wasn’t on fire. The hall light was on. It was really late. Why was the hall light on? I could hear my mum. What was she doing? Sounded like she was banging on the bathroom door. I tried to call out to her but I couldn’t. I then hear her voice, panicked. She’s speaking to someone. They aren’t replying. It’s almost like she’s receiving instructions. She keeps answering yes or no. She tries speaking to my Dad... No answer.

My mind isn’t exactly intact from this point on. I will give you what I remember in bullet points.

·       Mum rushes in and grabs me from my bed and whisks me to the living room.

·       I hear lots of voices

·       A bespectacled man tells us they lost him. I reply “no”

·       I don’t remember crying

·       Family start showing up even though it’s early hours of the morning

·       My Uncle (one of Dad’s brothers) tells me “You’re the man of the house now”

·       I go to the bathroom for a pee. I see his rings lying in a newly drained bath. I can’t imagine him not in it. I hurry my pee and leave.

·       I meet my friend the next day and tell him what happened. He’s shocked. He doesn’t tell anyone.

·       My Dad’s other brother arrives and can’t even walk in the house.

·       I’m off school. I go along at break and all my friends tell me “You’re bunking off.”

·       I come back at lunch break. The teacher has told them all what happened. Two of my closest friends are heartbroken. Everyone else comes over to say hi.

·       The funeral

·       Lots of crying. None after it from me, for some reason.

·       Back to life

There are lots of other factors in there. My Mum had some counseling. I didn’t. Lots of people we hadn’t seen for years just started showing up. I went to stay with my Grandparents, Aunt and Uncle and my Mum’s friend whilst my Mum took time away to process that she had also lost her best friend. But more importantly, her soul mate.

I can tell you every detail of what happened leading up to the events. Push me hard enough and I could probably even tell you what we had for dinner that night. The next year following though is just a haze of trying to make it day to day. My mum tried to make my birthday as normal as possible. I honestly can’t remember it. All I can remember is that nothing was the same. My Dad was gone. This street where nothing happened was engulfed in blue flashing lights. Sadness and tears filled the air. There was no escaping that nothing was ever the same.

People started to move out. We even moved 2 years later. I was twelve. My Mum couldn’t stand being in the home where happiness had once lived longingly and had been destroyed within a moment.

Here we are, twenty years later.

They say that 'Time heals all wounds' I’m here to tell you, it doesn’t. I’m 10 days away from being thirty and I think, that I miss my Dad more today than ever. It has been so incredibly difficult. The older I get, the more I start to understand some of the struggles my parents must have gone through in life and I find it extremely unfair that the one thing that my father wanted to relish in, his family, was taken from him. The time in which he could have had to grow old with his loving wife, see his boy grow up and find love, take trips, soak in more culture, all of it stripped away needlessly.  I don’t blame anyone. That would be stupid if I did. It’s no one’s fault. People have to die. It’s all part of life. I only wish it hadn’t been so soon.

My relationship with my Mum grew. So much so that she is probably more my best friend than my Dad ever was and yet, both of us would admit that, that seems crazy to think about.

I’m glad he didn’t have to see his heroes pass on, Bowie, Victoria Wood, Keith Flint and so many more. That would have saddened him immensely. He got to miss out on all the bad things that have happened in the past 20 years. He lives in a time where, looking back in only memory, seems idyllic.

I find myself saying almost the same things over and over again when I describe my Dad. Tam Stewart was a man of exceptional fashion sense, always at least 5 years ahead of the trends. Introduced me to every piece of music I know. Had such an eclectic taste that his CD/tape/record collection looked like the genres of your local record shop, which is where he loved to spend some time. He was a sweet, kind hearted, laid back man who loved all of his family and friends. He adored classic cars and had a fascination with Vespa Scooters (which he restored one) and Trikes (which he wished to build from scratch, but never got the chance) He had the aura of a larger than life character, when in all actuality he was quite quiet and smaller than average height. He had the best smile and the most beautiful, loving eyes. I miss him greatly and wish I could hear his voice one last time.

A picture of him and my Mum, at the opening of the Dundee Contemporary Arts, sits at the top of the stairs in our house. I look at it every day and smile.