As a family still reeling from the shock of Mum’s untimely death, for Dad to go so soon after Mum is the cruellest of ironies and the most devastating blow that has ever happened to us. We all knew that Dad had major health problems but having recovered from bowel cancer and heart disease and keeping his Parkinson’s at bay, we were all beginning to think of him as some kind of comic-book hero, able to fight off concerted waves of attacks on his health. This is why, in many ways, this iatrogenic loss is much more of a shock to us than it was with Mum and leaves me with a deep feeling of discomfort. With Mum we could see a rapid and almost daily decline, and an end that was at least merciful in the cessation of suffering. With Dad it was a war of attrition fought on several fronts, with his defences spread too thinly. It was inevitable that these would eventually become overwhelmed but we had no idea it would be so soon after Mum’s departure.           When they both moved into their flat in Marple in April, we were so full of hope for their future in their new home. They had more space, more facilities, better access to medical care, were less isolated and so on; it seemed that they’d finally hit the jackpot. It’s just unbelievable that in a little over 6 months, both of them are no longer here to enjoy what they had both worked so hard to achieve.           Dad was a very shy and quiet man, well-respected and always considerate of others. He was of unfailing generosity. As a poor student in my youth, I often remember asking him to fund a night out with friends. He would curse and grumble for the next 5 or 10 minutes then graciously hand over often just a few pounds that were all that was left in his wallet. Mum often said that she married Dad because he would give you his last. He frequently did.          He was passionate about football especially Manchester United for which he had a life-long love and devotion which was unshakeable. A keen footballer himself in his early days, he would proudly recall the trial he had with Tranmere Rovers and the coach at that time subsequently moving on to Man united.  In fact the only time Mum ever recalled Dad crying was at the death of “the Busby Babes” in the Munich air disaster of 1958. His loyalty was forever sealed with those tears.           On a small scale, he loved to back the horses, buy the odd lottery and raffle ticket and enter competitions. But he was incredibly lucky and seemed to win back far more than he ever paid out. When we were kids, I can remember Dad, as a postman, always had to work early on Christmas Day morning. One year he’d arranged to buy a chicken off “a fellow at work” (an oft-used phrase that would precede any discussion ranging from politics, finance and every other subject under the sun. These remember were the days before the internet and Google search engines.) Dad normally came back around 6.30 or 7am but by 10 o’clock there was still no sign of him and the chicken would need time to be stuffed dressed and cooked; Mum becoming more frantic with worry. Suddenly he appeared on the horizon with a couple of plucked chickens slung over his shoulder with a demeanour and gait that suggested one toast of sherry too many. One chicken was purchased as arranged, the other was won in the works raffle.           Dad was first and foremost a family man. His family was everything to him for which he devoted 25 years of his life working 12 hour shifts on nights to make ends meet. He was a very proud man and I can remember as a kid when Dad was on strike for several weeks, we were really struggling such that there was little or no food in the cupboards. The local priest called one day to ask if we were coping.  I was shocked when he replied that we were fine as I was frequently crying with hunger. I didn’t understand this at the time but now I do.           I would like to thank Dad for the values he has given me; an acceptance of one’s responsibilities, a secure, stable, loving and supportive, happy family environment in which to grow up, amongst many other attributes. When we were kids, Dad would hire a camper van each summer and we’d shoot off down to Cornwall, Devon, and Somerset and occasionally to Scotland. These were such wonderful and magical times for me that left such a deep impression that by the age of 21 I’d saved enough to buy one for myself and have kept one now for more than 20 years of my life.           We have been robbed of your company Dad but not of your heritage. Who knows, perhaps Mum called upon you to be by her side. Just as you’ve been together for most of your lives, perhaps you are now together in the lights of the heavens we call stars with your feet up on a celestial sofa, watching and hopefully enjoying the rich harvest you have both sown.           Regrettably, I didn’t manage to see Dad in the last few days of his life but we spoke on the phone each night despite often considerable difficulties; with ward changes, wrong numbers, wrong times, etc. He told me that he missed me and I replied that I missed him too. These were the last words we spoke together but the sentiment is unchanged. I miss you Dad and I always will.