Filed under: Comment, Dad, Death, Emotion, Empathy, Family, Love, Loyalty, Mum, Mum & Dad
I know, I know … I said I was away for a week – and I am – but I couldn’t let today pass without me acknowledging it, because today is the 10th anniversary of my Mum passing.
I’ve written a lot about this over the bast decade.
From what happened … to how it messed with me … right thought to how it changed how I do things and look at things.
And while all those things are still there … a decade later the feelings are far less connected to darkness and far more about the light.
I have to say, I am so relieved.
Mum was a wonderful human.
Full of compassion and curiosity.
Driven by a real sense of respect and justice for all.
For a very gentle, quiet woman, she was a force that you felt through her actions, her choices, her emotions and – when necessary – her words.
But most of all, I think of Mum as an incredibly dignified person and nothing reflects this more than how she prepared for what she feared most.
You see Mum was going into hospital for a heart valve operation.
It was a pretty common procedure, but at 83, she was aware things could happen.
She’d already delayed the operation by a few months to ensure I could be with Jill when Otis was born – another example of her selflessness – but even though things had initially gone well, sadly the condition of her heart was far worse than expected and within an hour of coming out of theatre, it ruptured and Mum died.
I’m so, so grateful I was with her and that she knew that.
She’d told me a few months before that her greatest fear was that she may die alone – like her sister-in-law had tragically experienced.
And while I would give anything to have her back, knowing I was there – as I was with Dad – has definitely helped me deal with the loss.
But it’s what happened after she passed that reaffirmed one of her greatest traits.
Her dignity.
Something she valued very much. Even in death.
You see, when she had died, we were going through some draws back at her house. In there, I found a book she’d been compiling featuring all the account numbers associated with her, all the contact information of her friends, and a compilation of stories and articles that she wanted me to see or know if the worst happened.
To do that both blows me away and breaks my heart …
Blows me away for the incredible generosity of wanting to ensure in my darkest hour, I am not being further impacted by the complication of trying to find or access information.
Breaks my heart because not only did it represent her acknowledging the potential of her death, but that she did it alone.
I don’t know how she felt doing this, I just hope that any emotional struggle she felt was softened by knowing she was doing something that was important to her. Important because I – as her only son – was her world.
She never left me in doubt of that. Ever. Even when we had little disagreements over the years …
Because the undeniable fact was she loved me and I loved her.
And I still do.
I’m so grateful and honoured she was my Mum.
Which is why, as much as today is a connected to something deeply sad in my life – she’d be very happy to know, the feelings I have today are far more associated with love than tragedy.
For all she did.
For all she was.
For all she continues to be in my life.
I love and miss you so much Mum.
Give Dad a big kiss from me.
Rx
Filed under: 2025, Anniversary, Attitude & Aptitude, Content, Context, Creativity, Dad, Daddyhood, Death, Emotion, Empathy, Jill, Love, Loyalty, Mum & Dad, My Childhood, My Fatherhood, Otis, Parents
So today is the 26th year of Dad dying.
Given I’ve written this blog for almost 2 decades, you’d think I’d have said all that needed to be said about him – and in some ways, you’d be right – however, despite the fact that next year he’ll have been gone for over half my life [so far], he is arguably more a part of my day-to-day reality than ever.
I talk about him.
I think about him.
I reference his learnings and lessons in how I live my life and do my job.
He’d probably love that I do this, though I can’t help but feel he’d also ask “why?”.
Of course, part of it is because I love him and miss him – but more than that, the older I get, the more I appreciate how great he was.
As I’ve written before, my Mum and Dad blessed me with an epic childhood.
A life overflowing with the full force of their total love and support, even when I tested it to varying degrees and extremes.
They were compassionate, considerate and continually encouraged me to find and follow my own path … even when it went against what they wished I’d do.
And most of all, they ensured they sheltered me from many of the challenges and hardships we faced over the years, so that I could forge my life rather than be held back by theirs.
In terms of unconditional love, they were the posterchild for it.
But please don’t think they were walkovers …
While they were willing to let me explore, they wanted to ensure I’d really considered what I was doing or wanting to do.
Not so they could talk me out of it, but so they could understand it. Have a deeper appreciation of what was driving me so they could both encourage it and make sure my eyes were open to the realities of it.
It’s why they encouraged me to be a studio musician when they would have loved me to go into law. It’s why they pushed me to continue with my move to Australia when Dad had his stroke before I left. It’s why they taught me the importance of fulfilment when most parents were fixated on achievement. It’s why they let me follow Queen around Europe when I was 15 when most parents demanded their kids stay at home.
Incredible, eh?
But the thing is, I didn’t know that at the time.
If truth be told, there were times where I thought my parents were holding me back … cramping my style … oppressing my dreams.
And while I worked out I was being a bit of a fuckwit, I didn’t really realise how much of one I was being until I heard about other people’s parents and when I became one myself.
Because on top of all the advice and support they gave me, the big thing was they were always present.
In my life and by my side.
Be it for homework, parent/teacher evenings, birthday parties or just bad days … they were there. Standing in my corner … supporting me … encouraging me and being interested in me and my life.
What a fucking gift …
And yet, because it was part of my normality, I took it for granted … never realizing the effort and sacrifice it took for them to make sure they were always there.
And they made some major sacrifices.
Not just in terms of time … but also in terms of their choices, career, money and opportunity.
And I was immune to much of it because they didn’t want me to know – either because they knew I’d try and talk them out of it or because they feared it would add pressure on me to justify whatever I was doing instead.
Do I understand their reasons for doing that?
Yeah … I do.
But what I understand even more is how hard it must have been to keep doing it … and I say this as a Dad who loves his son but has still moved him to 4 radically different countries [so far] in just 10 years.
[And don’t get me started on how many times I’ve made my wife move]
Which hopefully all goes to help explain why my Dad plays so much in my present … more and more, I realise how fortunate I was.
How fortunate I am.
He – like Mum – created the space and time for me to fill on my terms, rather than expect me to fit in with whatever they had available.
They enabled me to be part of their life rather than an accessory to it.
Believing their role was to teach me how to make the best decisions for my life rather than telling me what to do.
That forging my own path would be the ultimate demonstration that they did good.
So, it’s a shame that for all their generosity, it’s kinda-backfired.
Because so much of what I’ve done and do is driven by my desire to make them metaphorically proud.
To let them know I didn’t take their lessons and sacrifices for granted.
It’s one of the reasons I have kept living around the world, because I feel it would be disrespectful to ‘go back’ when they sacrificed so much to let me go. It’s also why I keep running towards the exciting and unknown … because for me, it’s a way to demonstrate I value a life of fulfillment over a life of easy contentment.
Whether they would think agree with what I’ve done is anyone’s guess.
There would definitely be some stuff they’d be shaking their head at, but I hope overall, they’d be proud.
I hope overall they’d smile and see I’m trying to make as much out of what I’ve got.
It’s my way of honoring them.
Of ensuring that while they’ve gone – their impact is still here.
With me. With love.
Filed under: Birthday, Dad, Daddyhood, Emotion, Family, Jill, Love, Mum & Dad, Otis
Following the sadness of yesterday, today is pure joy.
I think Lisa would have absolutely loved that.
You see today, my brilliant boy – Otis – reaches a milestone …
He turns 10.
TEN!!!
Even though it seems only a few years ago he came into our life, he’s packed a hell-of-a-lot into his first decade.
Born in China.
Moved to LA.
Touched down in London.
And – it’s safe to say – thrived/thriving in Auckland, New Zealand.
But on top of all that change, he’s also dealt with a whole lot of challenges along the way.
Saying goodbye to his buddies …
Watching his Dad fall apart at the loss of his Mum …
Watching his beloved Rosie leave us …
Watching his Mum have a pretty big operation …
Go through his own operations.
Deal with a global pandemic and all the impact that had in terms of education, isolation and trepidation.
Then there’s been the new schools, new friends and – let’s not forget – the daily challenge of dealing with dysgraphia.
And while there’s definitely been some hard days, he approaches life with a level of kindness, compassion, curiousity, cheekiness and love that takes my breath away.
It’s all his Mum’s work and influence, but still … it’s incredible.
That doesn’t mean he’s naïve to the impact all these challenges have had – and continue to have – on him.
In fact, one of the things I’m proudest of is his emotional intelligence.
His ability to not just identify when he’s having a tough time, but to express it to others.
Of course it’s not easy hearing your kid tell you he’s feeling down, but I don’t take it for granted how fortunate I am that he does and that he feels he can.
It’s why I’m in awe of how his crew of mates are so supportive to each other and any challenge they’re facing or dealing with. That certainly wouldn’t have been the case back in my day – where it would have been used to taunt and tease mercilessly, even if not meant maliciousously – which is another reason why I hold more faith in Otis’ generation to make a positive difference to how we all live, than mine.
As you can probably tell by now, I could not be more proud of being Otis’ Dad.
Not just because he’s a great kid … not just because he’s my kid … but because he has made me a better person than I’d otherwise be.
They’re not empty words, I mean it.
OK, I wasn’t a total nightmare prior to him [I think], but he has definitely inspired me to be a better person.
More calm. More understanding. More compassionate. More open.
I appreciate some of my colleagues may raise their eyebrows in surprise reading this – or they would, if they read my rubbish – but as much as I may be a short-fused, temperamental, call-a-spade-a-fucking-shovel, challenging, confronting, emotional prick … I was a whole lot worse before, haha. That’s why I know if Mum and Dad had got to meet him, they wouldn’t just adore him from tip to toe for being their first grandchild, but because they’d see how he has been able to inspire me to be better in ways they never quite pulled off. [Sorry Mum and Dad]
Now kids ‘growing up so fast’ is nothing new.
But as I’ve written before, the reason parents can handle it is because at every stage of their kids ‘accelerated development’ they get introduced to a new trait they fall in love with … a trait so adorable that it helps them let go of the last trait they thought they could never live without.
Now some of these traits are ‘stereotypically cute’.
A smile.
A sound.
A reaction.
An evolutionary development. Or sometimes, something they just love to do … which in Otis’ case, was sweeping – be it the floors of home, cafes or even Shanghai streets. Which he has DEFINITELY grown out of. Unfortunately, ha.
But as they get older, these traits evolve in more ‘unique’ ways – and yet are still utterly adorable.
For example, right now Otis is in the ‘moments of cringe’ phase of his development. Or should I say, I am igniting that in him.
It could be because of a song I’m listening to … a program I’ve watched … a phrase I’ve said … but the result is him laughing his infectious, cheeky laugh and telling me how cringe that is.
And you know what? I love it and I think he loves it too because in a weird kinda way, it’s a bonding moment between us.
Something that’s ours and no one else.
But I also love it because it reveals his growing independence, evolution and frame of reference and surely, if there is any ‘marker’ for a parent to check if they’re doing their part OK, it’s that?
So to my wonderful, delightful, brilliant son, I say this.
Dear Otis.
Congratulations on hitting double digits – it’s a big moment in anyone’s life.
And while you may feel it’s taken you an age to get here, don’t wish things away too quick.
You’re a brilliant kid.
Not just in who you are, but how you are …
Stubborn on the right things, effervescent in everything else.
That’s about as perfect a combination as anyone could hope for …
It means you don’t spend so much of your time looking forwards you fail to see all you can squeeze out of the present.
The weird, the silly, the wonderful and the ridiculous.
That stuff matters.
Not just for enjoying now, but for getting the most out of the long life of double figures ahead.
So keep doing all you’re doing, because you’re playing it great.
The good, the bad, the happy and the hard.
Dealing with life with honesty and grace.
No arrogance or distain, just consideration and deliberation that belies your years.
A desire to do the right thing, even when you occasionally find yourself having done the wrong.
It’s an honourable way to live and we’re lucky to be witnesses to it.
So keep playing your own rhythm.
Don’t let others try and drown you out with their melodies and noise.
We’re so very proud of who you are and excited to see who you will become.
So enjoy those double digits, but don’t start acting quite like them yet.
There’s a lot for you to leave your mark on today, as well as tomorrow.
Happy birthday, dear Otis.
We love the hell out of you.
Mum and Dad
xxx
Filed under: Attitude & Aptitude, Context, Dad, Jill, Love, Mum, Mum & Dad, My Childhood, Otis, Relationships, Resonance, Tattoo
So I’m back again.
Kinda.
I say that as by the time you read this, I’ll be off again.
On a plane, to a different country. But don’t get too excited because unlike the other recent trips, it’s only a few days so this blog – if anyone reads it – will be back on Thursday.
You’d think with all the time I’ve been away, I’d of had a chance to think up some new topics to write about. But quite frankly, the biggest news is the realization we’re now entering the last month of blogging for 2025.
How the hell did we get to this point of the year so quickly?
The thought that in just over a couple of months we enter the 19th year of this rubbish is mindblowing … though maybe I should say mind numbing, hahaha.
Anyway, this post is about tattoos.
Hang in there, it’s quite a personal post.
I got my first tat when I was about 41 years old.
I’d always thought about them but either was worried about the pain or not sure what I would want on me.
Things changed when I found myself in a tattoo shop in LA while on holiday with Jill, Paul and Shelly … and suddenly the opportunity to ‘go for it’ was just a head-nod away.
So, I did and almost immediately it made more sense to me than I ever imagined.
You see, for a sentimental fool like me, tattoos are a way to commemorate and celebrate all that is – or has been – important to me.
More than a reminder, but a way to keep these things alive in my consciousness.
Maybe that’s why I find having them peaceful.
Proper peace.
To the point I sleep through them rather than wince because of them.
So, while some can have any old shit inked onto their body, for me each is deeply personal and that’s why my arms are covered in a hotchpotch of weird personal references and deeply emotional significance … from toast with the Superman logo burnt into it to a mooncake, an owl, an octopus, a black heart with flowers and Ms Piggy right through to things like my old Nottingham post code and phone number, Rosie’s face, paw and nose and Otis birth date to name but a few.
But recently I had 2 more added that had a bigger impact on me than I imagined.
While going through some old photos, I found my parents passports.
As I looked through the pages, I saw their signatures and it really got to me.
Part of it was I’d not seen them for a long time.
Part of it is knowing they won’t ever write them again.
Part of it is because they’d written them with their own hand, so I felt close to them again.
It was an emotional moment and decided there and then I wanted them tattooed on me.
Now I have tattoos for Mum and Dad already [the Owl and Ms Piggy] but this was different and so when I talked to an artist near our house about it, she readily agreed and created scans she could use as a template to ink.
And this is the result.
They’re perfect.
Both in terms of how they look and where they are.
But more than that, they’re perfect in what they mean and represent.
I was gobsmacked when I first saw them because it felt so surreal to see their signatures written new again.
Yes, I know I’d asked for them, but these were ‘fresh and new’ and given Dad has been gone 25 years – and Mum 9 – it felt like they were part of my present, not simply my past.
Being able to look at my wrist and not just see their names, but their actual signatures is very special to me as it means they are now living in my world … but more than that, I’m taking them with me. Showing and sharing with them how I live and what I do. Having them on the journey with me rather than just in my memory.
I appreciate not everyone will get this and some may think I have finally – or officially – cracked, but I hope some people get it, because the point of a tattoo, at least for me, isn’t about branding, but living.
Ensuring things of significance in life are not consigned to ‘memory status’, but liberated to be oxygen for where you go. Not because you can’t let go or are frightened to … but because the energy of what they are helps take you further. In the now. In the present. In the forever.
Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Attitude & Aptitude, Childhood, Comment, Dad, Daddyhood, Death, Family, Home, Love, Loyalty, Mum & Dad, My Childhood, Nottingham
I watched something recently that made me happy, jealous and sad all at the same time.
I know … I know … they’re the sort of emotional extremes you’d normally associate with a psychopath – but hang in there.
I’ve written a lot about how much I loved my parents. How much I still do.
So many of the decisions and choices I’ve made in my life have been influenced by me wanting them to feel proud of me – even though they’re no longer here and I know very clearly that they were already.
But despite that, I still do stuff that is driven by a desire to thank them for being brilliant parents … to let them know that despite all the moments of ‘stupidity’ that I have embraced throughout my life, the lessons, encouragement and love they continually showed me, were never taken for granted.
Even more so because they never wanted anything from me.
Nor did they ever ask anything of me.
All they desired was that I choose a life of fulfillment over contentment.
It took me a long time to work out what that meant, but once I had worked it out – it fundamentally changed how I lived my life. Giving me clarity at times of confusion or complexity. Hell, it’s one of the main reasons I didn’t go back to the UK when I faced some truly challenging situations while living overseas … because even though I knew they’d love it if I’d gone back [and I’d have loved it too] – I felt I would be disrespecting the gift they’d given me by encouraging me go and explore the world when they were facing such personal hardship through Dad’s illness.
We talked a lot about this when Dad became ill.
I was due to go to Australia when Dad had his stroke. Suddenly I didn’t want to go … I wanted to stay with them and help, which was my new plan right until the moment I told my parents about it.
“NO!” they said.
This was not something they were willing to allow.
Of course they massively appreciated the consideration, but they wanted me to go and live my life rather than – as they saw it – be held back by their situation. Given how hard their situation was, it is fair to say that no one – least of all me – would have blamed them if they had asked me to stay, but they didn’t and I think part of that is because they knew that had I not gone then, I would never have left … and that was an outcome they were never going to allow.
That does not mean life wouldn’t have been good if I had stayed – I loved my parents and I loved Nottingham – but it is also fair to say the life I get to live and enjoy now is nothing like the one I would have experienced if I’d remained. As I’ve written many times before, everything I have in my life today, bar my relationship with my best friend Paul, is because I left the UK.
My family.
My career.
My lifestyle.
My experience.
My experiences.
Every single bit of it … which is why their actions are not only an incredible example of ‘unconditional love’, but also proof of how well my parents knew who I was and – with a bit of encouragement – who I could be.
What a gift.
What generosity.
Which may explain why I felt such a compulsion to repay their love. I don’t mean that just in terms of chasing a life of fulfillment, but in trying to help them make their life easier, happier and – dare I say it – more comfortable.
You see, whatever way you look at it, life wasn’t easy for them. In fact it never was.
Money was always very tight and now, with Dad’s health – and Mum caring for him 24/7 – it had now become even harder.
And while I did what I could, I was not earning the money that would allow me to do what I really wanted for them which was:
Pay off the house and buy Dad a yellow 1970’s, Rolls Royce with white-walled wheels.
In that order.
But hope and reality are separate beasts and even if I could have pulled it off, I know they would have lost their shit over it, because to them, they’d tell me I should be focusing on my future, not theirs.
Which leads me back to the beginning of this post and how I saw a clip that made me feel happy, jealous and sad all at the same time … because I got to watch a kid do this for his parents. Not the Rolls Royce bit, but the house.
I love it.
I love the reaction of the Father.
The slow realisation followed by the cavalcade of emotions …. pride, relief, gratitude and love.
I can only imagine how good the son felt to be able to do that for his folks.
And while my parents did – in the end – get to pay off the family home, it was not because of me but because of an insurance payout they received for a car accident they’d been involved in 5 years prior. And while I wish they hadn’t had to experience the accident to be able to pay off the home, I also know how happy it made my parents – especially my Dad, who knew he was nearing the end of life and so it reassured him Mum would be safe – but even then, I still wish I’d been able to do this for them.
Of course – as my career took off – I was able to repay/spoil/look after my Mum – but while I may still look at that clip with a mixture of emotions, I comfort myself knowing it has nothing really to do with buying your parents a home and everything to do with celebrating a loving, caring family and viewed through that lens … I know my parents knew how grateful I was for all they did and all they were.