Thanks for taking the time to visit my JustGiving* page. I am cycling 100km through London as part of the London Nightrider event (http://www.nightrider.org.uk/Nightrider__London.htm ).

I intended to write a short note about the last year or so of Dad's life which I hope shows how important it is to me to raise funds for this charity in memory of my Dad, however, it turned into quite a long story, so if you don't have time to read it all the way through (!) then please sponsor me - 100km is a long way, and there are lots of hills! 

*Donating through JustGiving is simple, fast and totally secure. Your details are safe with JustGiving – they’ll never sell them on or send unwanted emails. Once you donate, they’ll send your money directly to the charity. So it’s the most efficient way to donate – saving time and cutting costs for the charity.

A SHORTISH STORY ABOUT MY DAD.... (please click Read More)

Some of you may know that my wonderful Dad died in September 2007 after a stoic attempt to fight prostate cancer. Luckily it was spotted early, so it was several years before they resorted to chemotherapy.

Initially he made jokes about the effect the oestrogen treatment had - his hot flushes etc! Then, throughout his radiotherapy treatment, he would arrive at the hospital suited and booted ready to go straight to work afterwards. I understand that he also spoke openly about the cancer in the office, and that this encouraged some of his colleagues to go and have check ups too.

I want to tell you about the last year of his life.

After a wonderful night out in London in May 2006 - the four of us (Mum, Dad, Jen and I) had concocted a plan to travel to Syria and Jordan later that year.

He had a fabulous 65th birthday ceilidh in July 2006 - but looking back, a picture is worth a thousand words... although he looks happy having his family all around, he's clearly not well.

He was told in September 2006 that he had a year to live - give or take.

He was heartbroken about the possibility of missing the planned family trip to the Middle East. He sought his Doctor's advice... the Doctor (in his wisdom) said "My head says you shouldn't go, but my heart says you should". 

He decided not to tell my sister and me of the prognosis until our return from the holiday, though the rest of the family and his friends knew, and of course were worried sick... e.g. we were planning to (and did!) camp wild in Wadi Rum - miles from anywhere...

We had an amazing holiday (see Gallery) - we visited Petra by day and by candlelight (had I known how ill he was - I would never have led the 4 hour climb to the viewing point above the Treasury!), Amman, Madaba, the Dead Sea, Bethany by the Jordan and of course the amazing night sleeping in Wadi Rum - after dinner the five of us (including our Bedouin guide) all lay on a large rock, and just watched the stars as they moved across the sky.

On the way back from the Dead Sea - which was only Day 2 - he said "Even if I have to go home tomorrow, I will have had the best holiday of my life"

We also visited Damascus, Aleppo, Homs, Hama (sadly all the names now familiar from the news, but then... fascinating, vibrant and beautiful places) - with Dad hunting high and low for tonic water having bought gin in duty free... we went to about 6 shops... then realised he had no ice... so he made ice-cubes in an ashtray found in the hotel room....!

He told us stories which we'd never heard before... how he got into engineering... stories about his parents... it was almost like he knew...

We had a lovely Christmas in 2006, and in 2007 he not only bought his longed for sports car (which he let me drive!), but he and Mum had wonderful holidays, including him having a diving lesson in Egypt and a trip to Sinai and St Catharine's monastery as well as a return trip to Syria to visit my sister who was by then living there.

In June 2007, he was taken ill the night before he was due to travel to Ireland for a family wedding - the pains that he thought might be a heart attack later transpired to be the cancer attacking his bones.

He was devastated to miss the wedding, and our planned week in Donegal afterwards.  The Donegal trip was intended to show my sister and I, for the first time, where his parents came from, the family farm where he used to spend his summers (and the roof which he and his brother were told was being mended by an uncle... they were to hold onto the rope and not let go... to keep them out of the way whilst a calf was being born!).  The four of us spent the week at home with him in Lincoln instead.

One evening, we were sitting in the summerhouse eating a marvellous onion soup prepared by my sister and drinking lovely red wine. We had his MP3 player on, and then Ashokan Farewell came on (if you haven't heard it... listen here... http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2kZASM8OX7s). The haunting melody and the look in his eyes were a prelude to him saying "I want to have this played at my funeral"....

The last photo I have of the two of us together (see Gallery) was taken at his sister's house in Glasgow in August 2007 at a family reunion. There's a pub in a very salubrious (! so I'm told!!) part of Dublin called Grumpy McClaffertys - he's wearing a t-shirt I bought for him bearing the name of the pub, and trying to look grumpy!

In early September, I drove us to Cleethorpes in the sports car - he wanted to visit a model shop to get a particular ship for a friend in Scotland. He wasn't able to walk very far without getting exhausted, so we each ordered fish and chips and just sat on the seafront and nattered.

Two weeks later, he had a stroke, and died a week later surrounded by his family.

In early October 2007, as some of his close friends carried the coffin out of the packed church, as promised, Ashokan Farewell echoed around the packed church.

Thank you for reading this far...  I'll be cycling with a photo of him stuck to my bike - his memory plus your support is going to get me through those hill climbs and dark moments of my 100km ride.

He would probably be horrified at the thought of me not only cycling to and from work, but cycling through the night... but it was him who taught me to ride, took the stabilisers off my bike, pretended to hold on to the back and watched me cycle off alone for the first time... I'm sure into a heap of arms legs and bike.

I vividly remember when he and I drove to Gainsborough to pick up my lovely red Raleigh Apple bike. He had a word with Father Christmas about buying me a racer a few years later, and after passing my GCSEs took me to buy a mountain bike as an unexpected congratulations present.  So cycling seems a perfect way to remember him - and I'm hoping it's a bit easier than running the London marathon!!! To be confirmed....!

So... if you've read this far... THANK YOU! and thank you for your support.

Fiona