Some thoughts

22 April 2005. Author: Craig Ray Email: craig@frankray.co.uk

Dads death did not come to me and Rach as a surprise really, neither did the way he ended his life - he had spoke about it on many occasions.

His illness in later life, especially the last 12 to 18 months had become a dilemma to him. The medications he was taking caused him worse side affects than the manic depression itself. He was increasingly down more times than up. And running out of options and , I think had had enough. I think what he did was brave and took great courage and honesty. Although I think it is very difficult for us to come to terms or make sense of the way he died, I think we have to remember that he was suffering a mental illness, and he was loosing his pride.

When he was happy - he was ecstatic. When he was sad - he was deeply depressed. Sitting in our somewhat comfortable and mentally stable lives sometimes I think we don't realise how thin the line is that separates us all from being like that.

In Australia when we learned. That evening me and Rach took a bottle of champagne down to the beach in Perth to wish him a safe journey. As we were sitting on the beach looking out to the sun setting over the Indian ocean I kept on hearing the tune to Cat Steven's Moon-shadow. Dad was a big fan and we were brought up on his stuff.

He lived the later years of his waking life half in daylight and half in the light of the moon.

The moon-shadow was many things to Dad. It very much symbolised his struggle with manic depression and indeed his struggle with religion. But never his struggle with God. Dad was equaly at home praying in St.Pauls in London, The Vatican in Rome or Whitechappel Central Mosque. I think the true God he knew was his moon-shadow and always will be.

Looking at the words of Cat Steven's song it also reminded by of the things I learned from Dad as I was growing up. And if I try and distill these down, these are just some of the fundamental things that made him who he was and enabled him to reach out and touch so ay people's lives.

He was a survivor - Times were hard - he would go to London with £10 in his pocket. He would sleep on the street for a couple of days before finding work. He would then get a flat and then start supporting us at home. I would go on to spend many weekends and school holidays with him down London. He taught us that you can depend upon ourselves. And we are stronger than we think. It was over this period of time that London became his second home

He would never Complain - I can honestly say that I never heard Dad complain about trivial things that so many of us do in our day to day lives. I'm sure he did occasionally. But never in front of me. I think I learnt from him at an early age that Life is not fair - but that's OK because that's it's natural state. That's the way it is. And the notion of fair was relative.

He would never Compare - Dad never compared his life to anyone else's. Never. Never compared houses, jobs, clothes, children, faiths - anything. He taught me that the quickest was to become dissatisfied with your lot in life was to start comparing it to others.

He would never Criticise - Apart from certain religious practices, politicians and racists - I never really heard him criticise anyone or anything. The greatest example of this in Dads life was his acceptance and embracement of different races and religions. His friends came in many colours and nationalities. The last 10 - 15 years of his life were spent living on the Boundary estate in Bethnal Green London, in an almost exclusively Bangladeshi community.

And most importantly - He was life and soul - He knew how to enjoy himself, enjoy the company of others and grab life and it's opportunities with both hands. Some would think to excess on occasions , but not me. I think he has reached out and touched more people in his life than many of us ever will.

Even in explosive situations Dad cold not help his eternal optimism and humour.

I remember one time Rachel and me coming back to Tyne Close in Chelmsley Wood, and finding the kitchen floors, cupboards and walls covered in the remains of a cream cake, and Dad hammering the sheet of plywood that once contained my old train set to the Kitchen window. Asked what happened, Dad said - I'll delete the expletives that I can remember - that Mom had taken up Olyimpic Gateux throwing in partnership with the Olympic games that year, and had won the gold medal. Mom obviously did not see the funny side of this, he was not the easiest personal to live with at times. We never did see her gold medal!

I think Dad is like an runner, or even a heptathalete, in the Olympic games of life, and had taken his torch and shared his light out to others, I suppose a candle that burns twice as bright can not burn quite as long before it reaches its bottom. I for one, will always carry his light.