My Dad, Don Cameron, passed away on New Year’s Eve at the age of 88.It seems to me there’s a huge dose of symbolism there. A day that is traditionally seen as ringing out the past and welcoming the future. A day for remembrance, but also for hope.
Growing up, I thought Dad could do anything. And even in the last few years, as he struggled with breathing issues, arthritis, mobility and dementia, I found it difficult to reconcile the reality with that image.
He taught me many things; values, resilience, admitting failures. But mostly he taught me about being honest, about doing what’s right, even when no one is watching.
Dad was generous, gentle and compassionate, and I think he became more so as he aged. Scots have a reputation, undeserved, for being tight with money. The truth is that Scots in the north were generally poor and had to be thrifty in order to survive. But even now I am hearing stories of Dad’s generosity which I never knew. That’s who he was: quietly giving, never seeking recognition.
I wish Dad’s last words were “Franco Cozzo”, (google him, if you don’t know Franco) which would have made for a great tale and wonderful epitaph for years to come. And although it was only a few days ago he did blurt that suddenly and for no apparent reason, he went on to say other things before he passed. But that moment, like so many others, reminds me of his humour.
I last saw Dad in June. I had planned to visit later in 2025, but as he was declining I gathered my remaining leave dates and went earlier. I was fortunate to sit with him for several hours daily, to tell him how I felt, and to listen to his stories. There were even days he had moments of knowing who I was.
Sleep well, Dad. I love you always.
All the way to Nort-a Melbourne, Brunsa-wick and Foot-a-scray
