Farewell Undies
At about 5pm this afternoon, my dad’s best mate passed away.
Undies – so named because he always said that assuming you wore them at all, you only needed to take one pair of undies on a fishing trip (frontwards, backwards, inside out frontwards, inside out backwards then turn them right way out and start again) was like an uncle to me.
He wasn’t very tall, but he was larger then life. A self-made millionaire and almost as much of a workaholic as my parents, cancer slowed him down but never really defeated him. He had a cheeky, wicked sense of humour, loved a drink, always baited the hook for me when we went on fishing and camping trips (I hated having to touch bait) and was the one person in the world that you could say to my mother “I saw Undies and he was absolutely pissed!” and instead of saying “That’s disgusting!!! I don’t know why people drink like that!” (As a matter of fact, no, my mother doesn’t know how much I drink) she would actually laugh and say “Yep, that’d be Undies!”
Always the life of the party and possessed of a joie de vivre that even cancer couldn’t suppress, Undies made many boring events not just tolerable, but downright enjoyable. My brother related well to him – they were ‘mates’ – in spite of the age difference. My sister adored him – he was a second father to her and of course I adored him – he always had time for me, he petted me and spoilt me when my own parents were too busy working and he once confessed to my father that while he loved my brother and sister, I was his favourite.
My mother loved him – in spite of the fact that he was a bit of a ratbag, or perhaps because of it… No one ever really teases my mother – she doesn’t have the best sense of humour in the world, but Undies could and did – it took her a while to catch on – she was a little taken aback by him at first, but once she caught on, he kept her in stitches. And then there was his relationship with my father – they had so much in common and could spend hours talking, or sitting companionably in perfect silence. Dad would confide worries to Undies that he wasn’t ready to discuss with anyone else – even my mother.
My parents are workaholics. They have always had their own businesses and they have always been at least 6 days a week – sometimes 6 ½ - and usually involving 12 – 14 hour days. Undies was a workaholic too, but he still managed to enjoy life and he managed to get my parents to see that they needed to as well. I don’t think it’s coincidental that my parents started spending more time out of work after they became friends with Undies. My dad even tried to retire (on Undies advice) but then got too bored with retirement and went out and bought another business. But he tried – I’ll give him that.
One of my (and my sisters) favourite memories of her wedding is of heading to the local nightclub after the reception – she was still in her wedding dress, I was still in my bridesmaids dress and as we went to walk in the doors and up the stairs to the club, we spotted Undies coming out – he was followed by a security guard and as he lurched down each step, he bounced from one side to the other and took the next step.
Just how he made it down the entire flight of stairs without falling or stumbling once is a bloody mystery to all of us. He got to the bottom of the stairs, walked towards my sister (who was standing there holding hands with her husband and laughing her head off), squinted at her and said “Is that you Lizzie??” (Who else would it have been in a big white dress??). My sister stopped laughing long enough to say yes. He swayed a little, half turned round and looked inside then turned back towards her and said “Are you going in there??” while gesturing vaguely towards the club.“Yes” she said, grinning from ear to ear. “Excellent!” Undies replied and spun around and lurched straight back up the stairs. The security guards just stood and stared in amazement as we all pissed ourselves laughing and followed him in.
He then proceeded to drink us all under the table.
And lest you think a very high tolerance to alcohol is all he had to offer the world, I can promise you that he brought a whole lot of laughter into many people’s lives. I never knew anyone who met Undies and didn’t like him – he was that kind of guy. He was the highlight of my 21st birthday party and I always said that if something ever happened to my father before I got married, I wanted Undies to walk me down the aisle.
About 3 years ago, he started complaining of pain in his chest and having trouble breathing. It took them a year to find out it was cancer – asbestos has a lot to answer for. At the time of diagnosis, they gave him 6 mths to live – one of his lungs had collapsed and the cancer was just too advanced to even think about going in there. Undies just laughed and told the doctor that it was going to take him at least that long to set his business in order so they better make it 12 mths at the very least.
He changed his entire lifestyle overnight – he stopped drinking, flew to China to see a natural health specialist over there and combined the best of western and eastern medicine. He never lost his sense of humour and proved that his sense of fun wasn’t alcohol induced. He was lucky to be able to afford to pay his own way to take part in medical trials for cancer and I suppose that if nothing else, he has at least helped medical research - not only by being a guinea pig but also by the huge sums of money he donated to cancer research.
A few weeks ago I nagged my parents into taking a couple of days off work and going to see him. I called my brother and arranged it all with him as well and even got my sister to join the chorus of nagging. I am so glad they did now – they had a great weekend.
I spoke to him a few days ago and he asked me how long till I was coming home. I told him it would either be 6 weeks or 3 mths – I wasn’t sure yet and he told me to do what I had to do – either way, he would hold on so that he could see me again.
Right now, my heart is literally aching – its funny in a way as that always sounds like such a melodramatic thing to say but it is. In a way, it’s a relief – a while ago he had a spare bedroom converted into a hospital room and for the last couple of weeks, he was on morphine on demand and oxygen full time – he didn’t tell me that, dad did – Undies didn’t want me to worry.
Many years ago when I was a little girl, Undies asked me what my favourite piece of music was and I told him it was Fur Elise. He asked me why and I explained that it was my Nanna’s favourite piece of music and she used to play it all the time. I used to love listening to her play and she took so much pleasure in playing that one particular piece that it then became my favourite piece of music. I then put on a recording of it and Undies and I sat there and listened to it together.
Ever since it was played at my Nanna’s funeral a couple of years ago, I haven’t been able to listen to Fur Elise without crying and yet I am listening to it today and its only while its playing that I can control my tears.
Farewell to Pete – a wonderful man who brought so much laughter into so many peoples lives. I can’t wish him back and in such pain, but forgive me for mourning the loss of a damn fine man.
Undies – so named because he always said that assuming you wore them at all, you only needed to take one pair of undies on a fishing trip (frontwards, backwards, inside out frontwards, inside out backwards then turn them right way out and start again) was like an uncle to me.
He wasn’t very tall, but he was larger then life. A self-made millionaire and almost as much of a workaholic as my parents, cancer slowed him down but never really defeated him. He had a cheeky, wicked sense of humour, loved a drink, always baited the hook for me when we went on fishing and camping trips (I hated having to touch bait) and was the one person in the world that you could say to my mother “I saw Undies and he was absolutely pissed!” and instead of saying “That’s disgusting!!! I don’t know why people drink like that!” (As a matter of fact, no, my mother doesn’t know how much I drink) she would actually laugh and say “Yep, that’d be Undies!”
Always the life of the party and possessed of a joie de vivre that even cancer couldn’t suppress, Undies made many boring events not just tolerable, but downright enjoyable. My brother related well to him – they were ‘mates’ – in spite of the age difference. My sister adored him – he was a second father to her and of course I adored him – he always had time for me, he petted me and spoilt me when my own parents were too busy working and he once confessed to my father that while he loved my brother and sister, I was his favourite.
My mother loved him – in spite of the fact that he was a bit of a ratbag, or perhaps because of it… No one ever really teases my mother – she doesn’t have the best sense of humour in the world, but Undies could and did – it took her a while to catch on – she was a little taken aback by him at first, but once she caught on, he kept her in stitches. And then there was his relationship with my father – they had so much in common and could spend hours talking, or sitting companionably in perfect silence. Dad would confide worries to Undies that he wasn’t ready to discuss with anyone else – even my mother.
My parents are workaholics. They have always had their own businesses and they have always been at least 6 days a week – sometimes 6 ½ - and usually involving 12 – 14 hour days. Undies was a workaholic too, but he still managed to enjoy life and he managed to get my parents to see that they needed to as well. I don’t think it’s coincidental that my parents started spending more time out of work after they became friends with Undies. My dad even tried to retire (on Undies advice) but then got too bored with retirement and went out and bought another business. But he tried – I’ll give him that.
One of my (and my sisters) favourite memories of her wedding is of heading to the local nightclub after the reception – she was still in her wedding dress, I was still in my bridesmaids dress and as we went to walk in the doors and up the stairs to the club, we spotted Undies coming out – he was followed by a security guard and as he lurched down each step, he bounced from one side to the other and took the next step.
Just how he made it down the entire flight of stairs without falling or stumbling once is a bloody mystery to all of us. He got to the bottom of the stairs, walked towards my sister (who was standing there holding hands with her husband and laughing her head off), squinted at her and said “Is that you Lizzie??” (Who else would it have been in a big white dress??). My sister stopped laughing long enough to say yes. He swayed a little, half turned round and looked inside then turned back towards her and said “Are you going in there??” while gesturing vaguely towards the club.“Yes” she said, grinning from ear to ear. “Excellent!” Undies replied and spun around and lurched straight back up the stairs. The security guards just stood and stared in amazement as we all pissed ourselves laughing and followed him in.
He then proceeded to drink us all under the table.
And lest you think a very high tolerance to alcohol is all he had to offer the world, I can promise you that he brought a whole lot of laughter into many people’s lives. I never knew anyone who met Undies and didn’t like him – he was that kind of guy. He was the highlight of my 21st birthday party and I always said that if something ever happened to my father before I got married, I wanted Undies to walk me down the aisle.
About 3 years ago, he started complaining of pain in his chest and having trouble breathing. It took them a year to find out it was cancer – asbestos has a lot to answer for. At the time of diagnosis, they gave him 6 mths to live – one of his lungs had collapsed and the cancer was just too advanced to even think about going in there. Undies just laughed and told the doctor that it was going to take him at least that long to set his business in order so they better make it 12 mths at the very least.
He changed his entire lifestyle overnight – he stopped drinking, flew to China to see a natural health specialist over there and combined the best of western and eastern medicine. He never lost his sense of humour and proved that his sense of fun wasn’t alcohol induced. He was lucky to be able to afford to pay his own way to take part in medical trials for cancer and I suppose that if nothing else, he has at least helped medical research - not only by being a guinea pig but also by the huge sums of money he donated to cancer research.
A few weeks ago I nagged my parents into taking a couple of days off work and going to see him. I called my brother and arranged it all with him as well and even got my sister to join the chorus of nagging. I am so glad they did now – they had a great weekend.
I spoke to him a few days ago and he asked me how long till I was coming home. I told him it would either be 6 weeks or 3 mths – I wasn’t sure yet and he told me to do what I had to do – either way, he would hold on so that he could see me again.
Right now, my heart is literally aching – its funny in a way as that always sounds like such a melodramatic thing to say but it is. In a way, it’s a relief – a while ago he had a spare bedroom converted into a hospital room and for the last couple of weeks, he was on morphine on demand and oxygen full time – he didn’t tell me that, dad did – Undies didn’t want me to worry.
Many years ago when I was a little girl, Undies asked me what my favourite piece of music was and I told him it was Fur Elise. He asked me why and I explained that it was my Nanna’s favourite piece of music and she used to play it all the time. I used to love listening to her play and she took so much pleasure in playing that one particular piece that it then became my favourite piece of music. I then put on a recording of it and Undies and I sat there and listened to it together.
Ever since it was played at my Nanna’s funeral a couple of years ago, I haven’t been able to listen to Fur Elise without crying and yet I am listening to it today and its only while its playing that I can control my tears.
Farewell to Pete – a wonderful man who brought so much laughter into so many peoples lives. I can’t wish him back and in such pain, but forgive me for mourning the loss of a damn fine man.
posted by Giggleworthy @ 10:54 AM
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