Bye, Dad
I wish I could say that I will miss you. I wish I could pontificate about what a great man you were, how you were an inspiration to us all and how anyone would strive to be half the man you were, but we both know that’s not the case. Sadly – for all of us.
When I heard the news that you had shuffled off this mortal coil, my initial reaction was "Oh, so it finally happened then – took yer time, didn’t you?" On one hand I felt guilty for responding like this, yet on the other hand I know that because of your actions, I couldn’t really feel any other way.
Later that day, I withdrew into myself a little, feeling sad. Not sad at losing a father as others would, but sad at what might have otherwise been, sad that I wasn’t able to really feel sad (if you catch my drift) and sad that you spent the last years of your life in what I would consider to be very sad circumstances. Yes, that was a lot of use of the word ’sad’ there, but that’s how it all ended up.
I was mentally recalling picture’s from mum’s photo album – you remember mum? She was the one you used to slap about when you first started drinking – where you were building the extension on the house in which I was born. I can see you in that photo looking all proud – you had a wife, 3 children, a good sized house and a good job. Things were only on the up, and how might things have been if that good upward curve had continued in that fashion?
My early memories of you are blocked. I cannot remember the screaming rants and the violence – either I was asleep, too young or my own mind decided to file that away in a corner somewhere never to be found again – but I know they happened. My memories of you as a child are of that person who visited when he wasn’t working out of the country somewhere exotic ( Saudi Arabia – was that for the work and money alone or did you choose to work in a ‘dry’ country on purpose?) and who always came with gifts. My first brand new bike (a Raleigh Boxer) that was from you, as was the first tape recorder, and I have to give credit for my early interest in music – I was the only person in my class at the age of 8 years who could claim to ‘be into Kraftwerk’, thanks to the pirate tapes that you used to get out there and bring back.
In later years, as I grew older and was more able to understand your illness, so did your inability to be able to deal with it despite numerous occasions where people who loved you tried their darndest to help you through. There was the accident that nearly killed you (Mr Indestructible), your cry for help dive into the River Thames, your bank robbery shenanigans and the ensuing prison terms and of course the ongoing AA meetings. We tried to help but along the way and over successive years you managed to alienate everyone until all you had left was a flat in Peckham that you didn’t own and some drinking buddies who, while perhaps not angels themselves, were well aware that you could be a problem once you had a drink inside you.
You had something about you – I’ve described it to people in recent days as ‘a spark’, perhaps a cheeky glint in your eye. You were funny and always a practical person, good with your hands (even while in Prison … learning how to use the computers to make Fake IDs that later got you in to trouble, ah such fun and games!). You were intelligent too, but obviously that was not enough to tell yourself that what you were doing was affecting you and everyone else around you, such that when you died you had little contact with any of your family. When I think of what happened on the night you died – waking from sleep with breathing difficulties, effectively drowning in your own lungs before having a heart attack – and realising that the person you called from your little one-bedroom flat was a support worker, not one of your sons, your daughter, one of your sisters or a wife/partner, it makes it seem even more sad. As we ready ourselves for a Christening this weekend for baby Freddie, I cannot help but reflect on how badly things can go wrong, that one day you were like this too, cradling a child and wishing the best for him/her (and I think we all turned out pretty well, despite anything else that might have happened). I would hate to think that anything in our lives – as in your children’s lives – could ever cause us to be in the situation that you ended up in. Actually, now I think of it you have been inspiration of sorts – you’ve showed us exactly what we should not do.
So, farewell dad. I may never understand the demons in your head that caused you to go so massively off the rails and I hope that if there is an afterlife that you get a better crack at it next time around, for you and everyone who knows you.
Posted: May 11th, 2007 under Reminscence, Stuff.
Comments
Comment from Margaret Williams
Time May 12, 2007 at 1:45 pm
Hi Andy,
Your comments on John made me cry,it is everything that I also think.
Such a wasted life.He once wrote a poem which I can not find now,but one line read”It’s not what you do in life but what you leave behind”.So true in your case,three great kids,and as far as I know three great grandchildren.
I saw little Freddie’s photo’s,a real cutie.
your wedding looked magnificent and Mandy so beautiful,well done.
You also have John’s humerour;s look, our son Ross has it too so it must be a Broadley/Lloyd look.Ross has a company called rawnet,www.rawnet.com,seems to be doing well,based in Windsor..He
has said to me that in photo’s he looks like John,weird how genetics work.
Take care Lloydi
Auntie Maggie
Comment from Rayna Smith
Time May 13, 2007 at 1:32 pm
Hi Ian, although Auntie Margaret calls you Andy!, we all seem to have different names, Margaret is Jackie and I was Lorraine Nowlan and now Rayna Smith. Hello, you must be my cousin (I think), my mum is your dads sister, Josephine. I am sorry about Uncle John your writing was very moving, I only have three memories of your family, one meeting at, I think at Beaulia (not sure on spelling as I cant spelll for toffee), I remember your Mum wearing a cardi longer that her jacket and we have always said you have “Auntie barbara’s trouble” if we see anyone the same. (strange how saying’s can stay all your life). We came to your house for I think for a firework party and your dad sent me a letter when he was in Saudi and that ment a lot to me.
Your wedding look great, I hope you are happy and if you are ever passing Kettering, pop in. x x x x x x
Rayna Smith
Comment from Karen Freeman
Time May 18, 2007 at 12:51 am
Ian, this is perfect, and helps me explain to people who don’t understand our relationship with Dad. I really couldn’t have put it better myself. x
Comment from Jacob
Time May 19, 2007 at 4:41 pm
I don’t know you but that was one of the best things I’ve read in a long time. As someone wrote, that was a brave piece.
Peace,
Jacob
Comment from mattymcg
Time May 21, 2007 at 5:21 pm
That must have been difficult to write Ian. Thank you for sharing such intimate thoughts in a moving way.
Comment from Stina
Time May 22, 2007 at 5:37 am
Hi!
I surfed by to check out the new Fraggle-video and also read this piece. Very brave to it write down like this (as many have written) and you text helped me understand some of the relationships in my own family. You put words on something that’s so hard to describe.
Stina – Sweden
Comment from Lloydi
Time May 24, 2007 at 1:26 pm
Rayna, yes it is confusing, but I’m not Andy – John (aka Dad) had three childresn – Karen, Andrew and me, Ian. Karen is now Karen Freeman (through marriage) and I am Ian Lloyd through choice (changed name to my mum’s remarried name), Andy kept Broadley as he didn’t really need to change it. I only changed my name because I went through school for a while under the ludicrous sounding Ian Broadley-Lloyd (an assumed double barrell name). I had to drop one of those barrels!
But all said and done, yes, I am still your cousin :-)
Comment from Lloydi
Time May 24, 2007 at 1:31 pm
To anyone who commented on how this must have been a difficult piece to write: actually, not really. Well, maybe a bit, but perhaps not for the reasons you’d expect. I wanted to put down my thoughts, and also thought it was a good way of explaining the situation to people who might think it odd that I was *not* emotional about the whole situation. the difficulty I had was actually one of creative writing – do I write *to* Dad? Or about him? And I wanted it not to be slushy and come across all ‘woe is me’, and hopefully it didn’t, as I’m not after sympathy or anything. Like I said, just wanted to put down my thoughts and the fact that others have appreciated them is definitely a bonus :-)
Actually, strange though it may seem (or maybe not having read all the above), in a weird kind of way I’m actually looking forward to whatever service we have for him, as it’ll be an opportunity to catch up wth people who I haven’t seen for note. Inevitably, we’ll be ‘comparing notes’!
Comment from LOUIZE HATT
Time June 5, 2007 at 11:25 am
Hi Ian,
Im your cousin too!!!, Maggies daughter Louize. Just wanted to say Im really sorry about your Dad, I have lovely memories of him,. It would be fab to see you Karen and Andrew again, take care,
love Louize.xxx
Comment from barbara lloyd
Time June 12, 2007 at 6:55 am
Dear Ian,finally managed to read your blog-what can I say-well done. So sad the way his life turned out,but at least he left behind three great kids.love mum xxx
Comment from Ryan
Time June 13, 2007 at 2:08 am
Thsi must be difficult to write Ian. Thank you for sharing such intimate thoughts in a moving way.
Comment from Zach Inglis
Time May 11, 2007 at 2:59 pm
Brave post mate. Not everyone could have written that out loud.