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.
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