would have been 50 next month; he died when he was 22 after being in a coma for 7 months after a road accident in which his girlfriend died. I've never forgotten the dignity and forgiveness of her family and the way that they conducted themselves in those tragic days.
My father kept a diary of those seven months and when I read those words that he wrote all those years ago I cannot help at wonder at the strength and fortitude that comes through. My father was a man who never, ever had a bad word about anyone. His favourite saying was, "If you cannot say anything good about someone, then say nothing at all.".
I still miss my mum, dad and brother but I remember the good times so much better these days. I miss the banter with my dad and William about football [soccer] - they were both 'reds'; Liverpool supporters, Everton's city rivals. I miss the directness of my mum - you always knew where you where with mum. But I remember times of softness with her and despite her hard upbringing I know that deep inside there was a woman of gentleness trying to break out. But the MS and depression and a miscarriage prevented that. Hers was a generation that got on with life and generally had no self pity; they made the best of what they had.
So next month I will celebrate the day that would have been my brother's 50th birthday and I will remember the best of times that I had with him.
