Tribute to my Stepfather

Yes, it’s that time in my life I wish had never come, but like everyone who has ever lived or will live, it eventually happens…

I have to go to a funeral — but not just any funeral — a close family funeral. Technically, he wasn’t related to me by blood, as he was a step‑figure, but that doesn’t matter. He was in my life for 22 of my 26 years, and the fact that this has happened still doesn’t feel real. A part of me never thought it would.

Was I naïve enough to think it could never happen? That my family were simply immortal? Or was it just the way life had always been — everything the same for the entirety of my life — that made it feel impossible?

Until now.

I’ve finally realised that anything is possible, and that’s what has caught me off guard: we only have one life, and we have to make the most of it, just like my stepfather did at the tender age of 76. And when you think about it — someone who smoked for 60 years, but stopped for the last 2+ years of his life so he could stay on oxygen — it’s incredible he lived the way he did. I recall him telling me he had three heart attacks in his lifetime, and one of them happened while he was a coach driver. That, of course, meant his coach licence was revoked for safety reasons, but he was still able to drive normal cars afterwards.

To me, as his stepson, he was the smartest person I knew — even before Google became a permanent part of our phones. And like any normal person, he’d sometimes say, “If you ask a stupid question, you’ll get a stupid answer.”

But it wasn’t just that. He was amazing in so many ways. He was a grafter when it came to working on the house. He was reliable, always available when needed, and incredibly generous. Whether he was the designated driver for parties and trips, or showing appreciation to someone, he would often give a gift — usually a box of chocolates. Especially toward the end, when he was frequently visiting the hospital, he would go to the supermarket, buy two or three boxes of Celebrations, Heroes, or Roses, and drop them off as a thank you. That was who he was: if you did something for him, he would naturally give something back.

He was selfless. He always made sure people got home safely. He would offer lifts to wherever you needed to go — something he often did for me and my family. He loved talking to people too. If someone came into the house, he would pause the television, introduce himself, and the first words out of his mouth would always be, “Would you like a cup of tea or coffee?” We still do that tradition partly because of him — though it’s something my family has always done — but his generosity made it feel special.

In my younger days, he was always the one suggesting places to go — whether abroad, or towing our caravan to Morecambe, Windy Harbour, Blackpool, the Peak District. Me and him, especially toward the end, went on holidays together. We went to Germany, where we visited the same army barracks he was stationed at in Herford, North Rhine‑Westphalia. Unfortunately, when we got there, locals told us the place had closed down two years earlier. We were devastated, but in fairness, it had been 50 years since he was there at 19 or 20 years old.

We went to Crete, a small island in Greece. It was okay, but it was clear his breathing wasn’t great at the time — we had to walk a lot because our hotel was far from the town centre.

Some of the trips we went on in recent years, just to name a few:

•Conwy Castle

•York

•National Tramway Museum

•Matlock

•Gulliver’s

And abroad, we travelled loads of times as a family. A few of them:

•Belgium — multiple times

•Germany — just me and him

•Spain — multiple times

•France

•America

•Greece (Crete) — just me and him

One of the last proper happy moments I had with him was on the 10th of August 2025 — it only seems like yesterday. On a sunny day, we made our way to Blackpool. About a week before, he had been eager to see the fighter jet airshow. He always wanted to see one. I wasn’t keen originally — we’d been to Blackpool so many times, and as time went on, it stopped being the exciting trip it once was. But not for him. He saw this as a grand opportunity to see something rare, something special. And looking back, it makes me wonder if he was trying to say, “I want one last trip to remember, and I want it to be a good one.”

If that was the case, he made it the best day we’d had in years.

Of course, it didn’t help that we started the trip with his safety walker — or “spider,” as he liked to call it — and four tanks of oxygen for the day. We hopped on the train to Piccadilly, but we had a situation. We had five minutes from the moment I quickly nipped into Co‑op to get meal deals for us both, and we needed to get to Platform 14. Thankfully, after spotting a member of National Rail and explaining the situation, he came with us, assisted my stepfather, and held the train — which was now delayed because of us. But it was vital we got on it, and we did. Fellow passengers even gave up their seats for us, which we thanked them for, along with the staff.

When we arrived at Blackpool North, we took our time walking around the corner to get his mobility scooter. I knew then he’d be in his element. And he was. Whether it was looking around the mall, going to the arcades, or grabbing a burger from Burger King before the airshow, he was enjoying every moment. I made one mistake with the order — I accidentally got two Monster drinks instead of a coffee because I used the kiosk — but it turned out to be a nice drink for both of us. Like normal, we shared one can and kept the other in case we got thirsty.

And then came the big moment — the airshow. To say it was amazing would be an understatement. The flips and tricks the pilots were doing… at one point, a group of them flew in perfect sync, performing simultaneous flips with trails of gas behind them. It was incredible

But the fact of the occasion was that he was simply happy to be there — happy to have a normal trip without relying on people, without worrying about struggling to breathe.

(More than anything, I was the one struggling to breathe because at times he was going too fast on his scooter.)

But I’m glad he had the best last trip with me, and it was an honour to have been there with him.

Deep down, it always brings emotions into play. In the last five years of his life, I was able to enjoy trips with just him — memories that will last a lifetime, until I’m gone. It will always be an honour to have been the person who fulfilled what he wanted toward the end of his life, whether it was the last holidays with me or the little trips we took together. Despite my family’s safety concerns, I didn’t give a damn, because the one thing I could guarantee was that we were going to have the best time of our lives in the moment. And I’m proud he got to do that with me.

To top off the day in Blackpool, after getting on the first train to Preston, I panicked at first because I thought we’d boarded the train to Piccadilly. But I was following the route on the Trainline app, and when I checked quickly, it made sense — it was the correct stop to get off. After getting off and going through the underground tunnel to the opposite platform, we boarded at the top of the train. Little did we know we were in First Class. We had no choice but to stay there because the cut‑off to reach the normal seats was too narrow for his “spider” walker to fit through. So we agreed to stay where we were.

It turned out to be a luxury experience in the end — we got fed and watered, with biscuits, tea, and even sandwiches. And to top it off, the conductor politely asked if we needed help getting to our next train home, as he could communicate with the crew at the station — the same kind of help we’d received on the way there.

After a full day out with him, it was by far the best I could have imagined. I was raving about it the moment I got back, telling my family it was the greatest trip we could have ever asked for and more. It was a trip that couldn’t have gone any better in our imagination.

“Wait, but did you buy rock?”

Yes — we definitely brought that home too. It was nice, and it definitely did not break my teeth.

If I told anyone that, based on everything I’ve written, we didn’t always get on — despite who he was and his personality — people would want to know why. I think, like any normal family, sometimes we’re compatible and sometimes we’re not. Growing up, that wasn’t always the case. But like any normal family, we live and forget, we fall out and love each other again. It was normal. And later down the line, no matter our differences, being in his company toward the end felt natural. It was always worthwhile.

A few last things before the final ending.

His favourite things — either throughout his life or toward the end:

•His unexpected love for Manchester City. He once met Kevin De Bruyne when he was a caretaker at a primary school. One thing he said afterwards was that he wasn’t impressed with him in person.

•His love for watching all types of sports: Formula 1, cricket, snooker, athletics, the Olympics — anything competitive.

•His love for 60s/70s/80s music. On rare occasions he’d put Alexa on and play music in the background. One artist he said he loved listening to when he was younger was Al Jolson.

•Something I’ll miss the most is watching the England Men’s National Team in major tournaments with him. Every two years, we’d sit on the sofa hoping for victory. We reached two finals during his lifetime, and even though the results didn’t go our way, the occasions were sweeter because he was there — celebrating every goal, debating every decision. No one else was as knowledgeable as him, and with the World Cup around the corner, I’m going to feel lost without him.

•We’d sometimes celebrate and watch Manchester City in the Champions League together — even though sometimes I’d rather they got beat because I preferred United. But when it came to English teams progressing, I always supported them, and sometimes we celebrated those moments together.

A message to the man himself:

Dave,

Thank you for everything you’ve done for me personally and for our family. You’ve left us with memories we will never forget, and I will miss your company and the trips we spent together. You were the embodiment of a true gentleman. You will always be known for your generosity, and most of all, you will always be remembered for how selfless you were.

The world will never be the same without you. To call you a “bonus dad” would be an understatement. The man you became, and the importance you held as a leader in our family, will be sorely missed. I will miss everything we did together.

Please rest in peace, and I hope to see you again — whether that’s in my dreams at night or in the memories in my mind.

From your stepson,

Daniel