He Was Mine

On June 3rd, 2025, my father, Hugh Stewart, died. Dementia.

I have written various pieces, including two challenge-winning poems about our complicated relationship. While it is true and fair that he was not an easy man to love, rather than taking further opportunities to discuss his failings, I wanted to commemorate the first anniversary of his death by celebrating him a little.

I didn't go to his funeral and, as his eldest child, it would probably have been, or should have been, my job to deliver some kind of eulogy. That never happened. So maybe this can be a eulogy after the fact.

While I feel the sadness and the pain, the regret and the guilt, the anger and the loss, I want to remember the good.

Because like most people, he was not a monstrous villain. He was a flawed human being with issues, addictions and failings. Just like me.

He wasn't very well suited to being a parent once my siblings and I reached our teenage years.

I pride myself on not trying to sugarcoat things, so when I've discussed depression, addiction, marital issues, problems with my dad's drinking or anything else in my life, it's always been as open as I can be.

That being said, I am a flawed man, in many of the same ways as my dad. As I've said before, it would be hypocritical for me to completely ignore that.

My dad was a hard worker. Not academically bright, but he knew the importance of hard work.

He was always one of these "try it" kinda men. Something needed fixing? He'd try it or find a friend who had some experience to help him.

He had a big appetite and a fast metabolism, so could put away quite a lot of food without it impacting him. I think the fact that he always had physical jobs helped too.

He loved to laugh and was quite a smiley man all in all. His jokes weren't always the best, but he could tell great anecdotes.

He may not have been great at being a dad, but he did understand the importance of family. Despite having a difficult relationship with his own dad, I remember our visits to Granddad Hugh's house. I never really understood why we bothered because I never felt warmth from that man. Still, it was his dad.

He also loved his brother and sisters, as well as the Italian side of his in-laws.

He and Mum didn't divorce until after I had left home.

And his sisters, brothers and in-laws all loved him too.

Most people have very warm memories of him.

While his drinking was legendary, and that's a huge part of my issues with him, it's still part of his character.

To his credit, when I was not seeing him for all those years, he eventually went fully sober.

Which I never got to congratulate him for. Because I know it must have been hard, as he was always a social drinker.

He was proud of us all. I remember when my sister Louisa used to do dancing, he was proud of her performances. I remember when Michael, my brother, first started in a band (the band that he started in high school still has three of the main core members to this day despite name changes), he was proud.

I know he was proud of me for starting my own family and have no doubt he would be proud of all my writing achievements so far.

My Nonna loved him.

He loved music and film.

I have spoken about his love for music and how it impacted my love for music.

He used to have a massive collection of cassettes and vinyl. He had special units in the lounge that he kept them all in. While I'm sure there were bigger collections, it still felt like a treasure trove of intriguing insights into music of the past. As I was developing my own taste in music, I'd look through the collection and maybe from J take Elton John's amazing "Sacrifice", Pink Floyd from P, Neil Young from Y, Deep Purple from D or Queen from Q.

All genres were catered for. I honestly think that regardless of how niche your taste in music is, you'd be able to find something you'd enjoy.

So today, on the first anniversary of his death, I want to say how much I love and miss him.

He was never a perfect man, husband or father, but he was mine and that's important. He was our dad. My brother's, my sister's and mine.

And I am truly grateful that he was and that he did his best for us.

I wish I told him that while he was alive.