When real life happens…

Today, I was planning on doing an article on the anniversary of Neal Ardley taking charge of AFCW, how things have dramatically altered under him, and all that.

Sadly, that won’t happen – earlier this morning, after a long battle with prostate cancer, my old man died peacefully in his sleep.

It was coming, he was in a lot of pain (both physically and – perhaps worse – mental) and while I’m utterly gutted right now, I’m also relieved that he’s no longer suffering.

I’m not going to do eulogies, but things might be a bit more “raw” on here for a little while. I’m planning on going to the Accrington game, and hopefully the club gives me a tonic like it’s done in the past – my nan died on the very morning that we went and beat QPR 5-0 at Selhurst – and just makes things a bit easier this weekend.

I mention what he died of, because it would be a good time to mention Men United here – as you know, it’s the FL’s chosen charity and while they’ve obviously focusing on what really matters to blokes who follow football – their ability to perform in the bedroom – it’s not a pleasant disease to have.

And as I found out this morning and known about for the last two years, there is no such thing as a “good” cancer.

The stats of the amount of men who get it is unreal, and while you can be unlucky and it ultimately kills you, many others do still live a decent enough life with it.

So, things are going to be rough with me for a while, and me and my mum (who many of you know) really appreciate the bon mots right now. Even when you expect the worst and you finally experience it, it’s still a major kick to the bollocks.

And as the poignant lyric in “Dreamline” by Rush says, we are immortal for a limited time…

11 thoughts to “When real life happens…”

  1. I read SW19army regularly and appreciate your efforts, so its the least I can do to pass on my condolences and personal experiece. I lost my dad a year ago this month after a fews of decline and the a very sudden, short, deterioration – just long enough to say good bye. I expect you don’t know what to feel right now, numbness maybe? Possibly a bit of guilt that you are not upset enough, or youre coping too well – don’t worry the grief will come one way or another – prompted by a comment, or a song maybe.

    Based on your writing, you were obviosuly very fond of him and there is a sense of relief in his passing. For me, when my dad went, there was a feeling of completeness, and old man had done his time, had his glory years, and bowed out having really got his moneys worth out of life – and has left us to it. I guess we’d been preparing for that moment for all our lives in one way or another.

    A year on, this news has brought my dad prominently back into my thoughts, although he is there often anyway. He won’t go away entirely and based on your comments i’m sure your won’t. My only advice to you, is remember to celebrate his life as well as mourn it. He’s only going to get one send off, so make it a good one.

    All the best and once again, my condolences to you and yours.

    Steve.

    1. Sorry, is a small word but my feelings are with you. Your loved ones are always with you in your thoughts.

  2. Sorry to hear the news. These will be tough times but going by your writings you seem a tough chap.
    Look after your Mum – she will need a lot of support.

  3. I always enjoy reading your wonderful articles, and I really feel for you right now. I hope the boys can cheer you up on Saturday.

  4. So sorry to hear your news, lost my dad to cancer many years ago but still comes back at you at times when you least expect it. Being there for you mum, and others will probably keep you busy for a while. I found watching afc was one of the few times it took me away from it all, hope it does the same for you (good result or bad).

  5. I lost my Dad to cancer in April, after a long 2 year battle, so appreciate how you must be feeling. I’m sorry to hear your news. Nothing ever prepares you for this loss. My Dad had a good innings and I have fond memories. As I live in Kingston, I often walk to the ground on match days, and I pass through the cemetery on route, which is just a stone’s throw from Kingsmeadow. So going to, and being at, AFC gives me the opportunity to remember my dad. I hope you find a similar way to get through your sadness. Best wishes and thanks for your write ups, which have helped me get through tough times!

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