When you know that somebody is dying, you feel a pressure to say a lifetime’s worth of things to them, and to ask them a lifetime’s worth of questions.
 
A couple of weeks before Dad died, I was with him and I thanked him for being a good dad to me. In true Dad fashion he asked, “What aspects about it were good?” I was a little taken aback and answered the first thing that came to mind; that he was always there.
 
Because he really was. He was at every school event and parents’ evening, making studious notes. When I was eleven, he retired, which meant that he was always there when I got home from school, ready to make us a cup of tea and do a crossword together. Or he would meet me outside school to walk the dog through the park on the way home. At home, he would always cook dinner, and often referred to himself as my butler (once we got Roo he often referred to himself as her unpaid attendant).
 
He was always there throughout five years of medical school, coming up to Norwich with mum before every exam, (and there were many!) to stay with me and keep me calm by taking me out for dinner and letting me practise examinations on him (and once even letting me take blood!)
 
Even when he wasn’t physically present he was always supportive. Throughout the last seven years I've received over 1000 letters from Dad. Most of these are in the form of “Roo’s News” – letters from our dog, Roo. They were usually about what they'd been doing that day, or simply Roo’s insights on the current political or economic situation. They were always stamped with his Roo engraved signet ring and illustrated with drawings and diagrams and included clippings of articles or obituaries he thought I’d enjoy, or sudokus for me to do during lunch. I've kept every single one. After a hard day at medical school, and later hospital, coming home to one on my doormat was the highlight of my day.
 
As well as always being there, Dad also had a youthful, childish side that didn't come out with everyone. As Danny's already spoken about, we had many great times playing war games on the Spanish mountain side. I also have fond memories of playing Mousie-Mousie at Christmas, a tradition first started with his parents. Rachel and I have also gone on countless bivvys with Dad and Steven and his children in the same place in the New Forest that they used to take the scouts almost 50 years ago. Going on the bivvys, watching the New Forest ponies, and playing on the Magic Tree were some of the most special times with dad.
 
On the outside, Dad liked to come across as ‘hard’ and ‘unemotional’. But the example that illustrates his true character well it when we bought a hamster. I was about 8, and had worn mum and dad down into theoretically getting one. While Dad was at work, I went with mum just to look, and of course we ended up buying one. When he came home from work, Mum had to break the news that we suddenly had Hattie the hamster. He pretended to be annoyed and hate the hamster, but for the next 2 years I would hear him through my floor at night, feeding Hattie bits of broccoli and sunflower seeds and talking to her.  This was repeated in his relationship to Roo. He insisted her adoration of him was simply ‘cupboard love’, and that he didn’t love her, but you would often find him feeding her little titbits from the fridge, or buying her yet another toy because ‘she deserved it’.
 
But for a man who was always there, it's hard to think about the fact that he's no longer here. And although it was one of the last great joys of his life to see Simon get married and to see his first grandchild, Jude be born, it is really sad to think about the moments in the future when he will not be there. For the next wedding, for the next grandchild. For the next Roo’s news. And I will always miss him.