My Dad passed away peacefully in Ulster hospital on Tuesday 30 June 2020 at 15:30.

Today is his funeral and I am in Abu Dhabi, 3700 miles away. And with Covid pandemic raging, I am unable to be at his graveside. I have spent these last few days reflecting, since I heard of his passing. Now I'm listening to piano traditional hymn music and remembering Dad.

Some might say the below reads like a therapy session, but isn't that what we have funerals for. It's not for those who have passed away. It's for us who are still here remembering and saying what our loved ones meant to us. Call it what you may, it is my way of saying "so long"...

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I think Dad wanted a boy after Anne, because I spent most of my childhood as his "on call" apprentice helping with every job under the sun in the garage, garden and house—even under the caravan rustproofing on our holidays. I learnt a lot of good stuff that has helped me all through life. Dad could fix anything, his knowledge was immense, as was his ability to think things through from first principles. He accomplished so much. But it was not all “peaches and cream”. Something always seemed to be gnawing away at him and, as his nominated assistant, I suffered the output of this persistent inner unrest.

I came to realise that Dad had somewhat of a narcissistic personality. I did not know when or how that started. He seemed to expect the world to revolve around him and that he was always right. Others were blamed when things did not work out for him. Dad was pleasant and very respectable to the world at large, but often blind to the good close to him. Narcissism grows as it is fed. I did not want that, I knew I had to challenge it. I tried to be honest with him and did all I could to help him understand when he hurt others. I believe he respected that. Nonetheless, I have had memorable and precious times with Dad. Here are a few...

I feel my father could have been an accomplished pianist, and on his baby grand he played hymns like no-one else. He would have me sing the words of hymns, such as "It is well with my soul" or "What a friend we have in Jesus". He read and played all the intricate musical moves while I did my best to keep up, singing the verses and turning the pages for him on time. At times I felt so lifted with him. No-one will play the piano so eloquently to the hymn "Out of the ivory palaces" as my Dad. This is my unaccompanied solo to Dad.

Dad achieved much academically and was very well respected in business. He wrote articles for Engineering journals, notes for societies and professional witness reports for court. As he struggled with his word processing, I was called upon to compensate for his computer ineptness. I helped format and print each paper and share the satisfaction of work well done. It was obvious to me though that he would never master, only resent, any computer.

Dad was so proud of his heritage and family successes. His aunts Louise and Margaret, had immigrated to Halifax, Nova Scotia to work as teachers with their uncle James, principal of "Halifax Institution for the Deaf and Dumb". In 2007, I agreed to accompany Dad on a Canadian visit. His aunts had long passed, but we visited their old house, the institution’s new premises, saw the portrait of his great uncle James Fearon hanging there, visited the aunts’ graves and saw some of their old friends. I enjoyed the adventure, and with Dad, I sensed that justifiable family pride.

Dad could appreciate good and simple things in life, even if other thoughts encroached and seemed to often spoil this. I recall him coming to visit George and I for the weekend. He was relaxed, enjoyed the meals I cooked, watched with contentment, sheep graze in the fields, and enthusiastically debated scientific mumbo jumbo with George. He seemed a different person. He kept on congratulating us on "our lot", yet it was less than his, and we had a much longer list of things to do than he. We enjoyed several outings like this with him, often over dinner in a Belfast restaurant.

Dad, I know you were driven to keep trying to be better, wanting others to do the same but frequently not understanding or acknowledging the love that was around you. But I also know that on occasions we understood each other and I got glimpses of the real you—a you that I loved and will always be proud of. I am so glad you are in peace now and you are in a much better place.

I will miss you always.