Lighting the Way for My Father

My father was a good man and I thought he would live forever, but on Monday, he passed away while I held his hand. I had flown to Australia to take him on a holiday next week and build in him the confidence to persevere as he began chemo. I had five precious days in Sydney by his side—where he was in good health, mobile, and unburdened by sickness. The end began in the morning with an ambulance, and I, along with his family and friends, spent those final hours with him as he fought to live for himself, to survive for us, and ultimately, to hold on long enough for everyone to arrive.

One day, I will write about him and what he meant to me, but today is not that day.

People have been asking me what they can do to help, and I’ve had to reflect. I remembered how he, with newfound comfort from Buddhism and despite his fear of flying, travelled around the world to light candles for my sister who had tragically passed away, hoping to guide her back to him.

I don’t wish for my father to return to me; I had my chance to make my peace with him in these last days. But they never shared that chance. My only desire would be for him to find her, as he had always wanted from the minute she was taken from us.

So I have asked everyone who has approached me to hold this second picture in their hearts—the image of her in his arms—and to light a flame, a beacon to illuminate his path. Though I am not a person of faith, this act would have held a deep meaning for him, and so it holds meaning for me as well.

Astonishingly, lights now shine on every continent, even Antarctica—a profound testament to the far-reaching impact of his life and what he inspired. Unburdened his path is clear, the way is lit by the collective love he demonstrated, a love taken, amplified, and shared around the globe.

If you are reading this now or in the future and you could join this tribute, or share it, it would mean the world to me. Let the light burn brighter, as radiant as he lived, reflecting back to him the love he showed. He would be so happy with this outpouring of light guiding him through the darkness, leading him to where she awaits his arms once more.

Cya boy 👍👍

Eulogy

This eulogy was delivered in memory of my father during his memorial service on March 21st, 2024, which coincided with what would have been his 66th birthday.

I remember the day Dad set out to buy milk and returned three hours later carrying two slices of cake. A new family had moved into our local corner store, and upon learning that they had never tasted a cake before, he gathered all the necessary ingredients from the shelves and proceeded to bake a cake for them right then and there. This story encapsulates the essence of my father—a man who was not just always ready but wouldn’t even think twice about going above and beyond for others. When he helped someone, he never accepted money; instead, he asked them to pay it forward and help the next person they saw in need.

Dad was multifaceted, playing different roles for each person he encountered while remaining uniquely his best self. He even liked that this could evoke strong emotions and opinions. Despite his challenges, Dad’s capacity for love and compassion knew no bounds.

When my sister Jodie passed away in a tragic accident, he went on a literal and figurative walk, searching for her wherever he could, seeking anything that could bring him back to her. It was a difficult time for our family, and I spent years feeling the distance between us. But even then, I knew he was always there for me—it took me time and personal growth to realise he was there for everyone.

He spoke openly and proudly of anyone he met, treating you all like family. It didn’t matter if you were related by blood or if he had just met you sitting on a bench. He saw no distinction between us. Without hesitation, he was there for anyone who needed him, and these bonds are now irreducible. You are my family.

As we gather here today, I want you to remember how you first met my Dad. Was it before his first “this could be it” skin cancer diagnosis 25 years ago? Or before Jodie’s passing 22 years ago? Reflect on your interactions with him since then, and realise everyone here has a similar story.

For Dad, the small things mattered:

• Smiling to improve someone’s day.
• Being there without question or expectation when you needed it.
• Everyday waking up to put two thumbs up because he had one more day to spend with us all.

His legacy is one of breaking down barriers, not building them. He showed us the power of kindness, generosity, and unwavering love, even in the face of his own struggles. He made it all look so easy that anything less is now inconceivable. I spent five days with my Dad, still healthy, sharing this love with those around us. In the hospital, I held his hand while he struggled, not for himself, but so that everyone had the chance to arrive and say goodbye.

Remember this. Remember my father. While he goes on his long journey of the soul to be reunited with my sister, take a minute out of your life to be kind to someone, stop to help rather than walk by when someone is in need, and sincerely ask how they’re doing, then stay to listen, and strive to break down barriers, not build them. In this way, he would be proud, the world would be a better place, and maybe, in a way, my father would live forever.

I miss you. I know you thought you hurt me, but you didn’t. Your love and the person you were are the most consequential aspects of my life that have shaped me into who I am today. I won’t forget you. I’ll carry your mantra forward in all that I do. Thank you for being not just my father but for sharing that same care with so many others. You may be gone, but who you were will continue to burn brightly through all of us, lighting your way back to her once more—Cya boy.