That's very sad news BB. I hope you can come to terms with your loss over time.
My understanding is that even screening for cardiovascular disease based on medical history only hopes to pick-up about half of those at high risk. The rest happen without warning.
All the best to you and your family. Keep posting when you can.
I'm very sorry to hear about your Dad, BB. Losing a parent is extremely hard, and I think it would be especially tough not being able to say good-bye when you knew he could hear you say it. I believe he can hear you now, however you say it. My thoughts and prayers are with you and your family.
I envy you those precious times running with your Dad BB. Just lately I've been lucky enough to work with my son Jake.
For the last few years he's been an eating machine, a surly teenager, a rude, indolent lodger, an uncommunicative sofa-dweller and the mother, father, uncle and aunt of all work-shy students. Turns out he's blossomed into a fine young man, a hard worker and a likeable fellow who gets on easily with others and plays a very decent game of pool. I've been given a chance to see him stand on his own two feet and I'm mighty proud of him I can tell you.
Your Dad obviously had the chance to see you in that way many times, but perhaps none more revealing than when you ran with him.
Taking on the Aquilianos together would have given him the opportunity to see his son in his element; no doubt he too was immensely proud.
I'm sorry for your loss BB, but happy for you to have such rich, vivid memories of your father.
The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph
Thanks for those kind comments everyone. It's really touching to read them all. I hadn't actually "run" with my dad for some years but we'd done some challenging walking routes, the Aquilianos being the most recent. He was quite a good runner in his day and had done the London marathon as many of you have. I now know how fortunate we were to spend time together... miss him loads.
Running slipped off the agenda and I hardly noticed it wasn’t there. Then an appropriate route suggested itself on the last day of a 5-day trip to the UK and the inevitable moment of re-acquaintance arrived.
This was to be a little homage to my father and my intention was to follow the exact route of our last walk together. Perhaps it was fitting that it hadn’t been some tough old slog along an icy and windswept mountain ridge far from home. The chosen path of that sunny summer day two months ago had been a simple one, one which stroked the gentle meanders of a very English river.
On my return to the river in late September autumn leaves floated peacefully on the surface and although the flow was barely perceptible it teemed with metaphors. A flock of Canadian geese formed a tidy V overhead. A swan beat its mighty wings like thunder and flew a cumbersome line before landing on the water 100 yards further on. A badger slunk into the shadows; this was the first time I’d ever seen a live one.
I ran for less than 30 minutes, at first with a spring in my stride borne from the optimism that I was still the same. Then I realized that I was running in the wrong direction .In July we had walked upstream in search of the footbridge to Arley station where the Severn Valley steam trains spit out their steamy hellos. But today my route was taking me down through Stourport on Severn and past its mini-Blackpool pleasure park.
No matter, both sections of the river were evocative enough of other times, of old haunts for Black Country youth escaping the smog for the fresh country air, a mere bike ride away. A twirl on the big wheel was just one more option and a wheel is as good as a river as a metaphor for life. This was where it all started. This was home.
I stopped and looked upstream and downstream. The water was so still I couldn’t judge which was which. The only thing that I could be sure about was that I’d run the wrong way and that this was a river of metaphors. So there.
Sorry dad. How many times did I laugh at you for carrying a map everywhere? And now you’re smiling down at me, wagging your finger and saying I told you so....
30 minutes running were enough for me and I walked back to Bewdley.
Recommended reading “My father and other working class heroes” by Gary Imlach. It’s a book I should have read earlier.
Lovely post BB ... as you say, teeming with metaphors.
And thanks for the book-tip. That the same Gary Imlach used to appear of 'Fighting Talk' and had something to do with early attempts at American Football coverage on British telly?
The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph
Yes, a big river is a very potent symbol of life's transience, and the unstoppable flow of time. No surprise that it was such an emotional moment for you. Thank you for letting us have a peek. That's quite a privilege for us.
El Gordo
Great things are done when men and mountains meet.
(01-10-2009, 02:08 PM)Sweder Wrote: That the same Gary Imlach used to appear of 'Fighting Talk' and had something to do with early attempts at American Football coverage on British telly?
I think that’s the one. He also presented some Tour de France coverage although I’d never heard of him before.
My dad gave me the book to read two Christmases ago and it’s a poignant document on the bond between father and son and also on how much top class football has changed. Imlach senior played for Forest and was a Scottish international (he played in the 1958 world cup) but would supplement his footballer’s wages by doing carpentry work around the ground in the summer. This was quite normal in the era of the 15 pound a week “maximum wage”.
One of dad’s favourite stories was of sitting behind Bobby Robson on the bus en route to some Albion match at The Hawthorns in the 50s. Dad was watching and Bobby Robson was playing. The dividing line between player and fan was minimal.
He kept asking me if I’d enjoyed the book but I never got round to reading it until last month. If you’re interested in how football’s social context has changed it’s a superb read.
Thanks for that post, BB. There's some great writing around here, and that's up there with the best (whatever "best" means... touching / moving / poetic / etc). Will look out the book, too.
Very beautiful post, BB. It reminded me of Jorge Manrique´s poem related with the metaphor of the river that represents life written in memory and homage to his dad after his death.
Nuestras vidas son los ríos
que van a dar en la mar,
que es el morir;
allí van los señoríos
derechos a se acabar
y consumir;
allí los ríos caudales,
allí los otros, medianos
y más chicos,
allegados, son iguales
los que viven por sus manos
y los ricos.
We've seen a bit of Gary Imlach on the TV during the Tour de France coverage - never knew he's written a book, though. I'll keep an eye open for it.
Lovely post BB, many thanks for sharing. And yes, I'm sure your Dad will be smiling down at you, though perhaps not just for running the wrong way - undoubtedly he's very proud of you.
