Good Friday. A Public holiday. The day Jesus was crucified. I personally don't follow any particular religion, though i consider myself spiritual of sorts. I believe in a god, not sure what it is but i know I'm not it.
Good Friday does mean something to me. I know people in my family who are deeply religious so i respect the day and the beliefs though I'm not quite sure why people eat hot cross buns to mark the day, isn't that a little like eating a cake made to look like the Twin Towers on September 11th? It's a bit macabre and in bad taste to me, particularly if they are the cheap ones from Lidel that taste like Cat Litter.
Lets face it, most people don't attend church. The people who are religious are in a minority. The vast amount of this country follow the religion of spending, eating, money, job, booze, drugs and Ipad. Whilst Jesus maybe the most iconic figure ever, more people post the words of Steve Jobs lectures than the Bible. How can this be? Well for me it's marketing.
If you think about it, Jesus looks way cooler than Steve Jobs did, long hair, beard, thin. A bit like a biblical Jim Morrison. Jesus nailed that Rock star look long before God made amplifiers. And Steve Job, specy & nerdy
Jesus didn't sell much other than a bit of woodwork. He was humble. Good. He thought he didn't need to sell anything, He was The son of God after all. Jesus Christ. Steve Jobs? He sold an idea. a cool gadget, a philosophy, a need. He made the world little followers of a cool gadget thing. He made the world think they need one, then the second, then the third and so on.
In short the Ipad is packaged so much better than religion. It's probably even got a Jesus App. I bet he doesn't get the royalties off that.Apple products are endorsed by people such as Obama, George Clooney and Angelina Jolie. Jesus is endorsed by Cliff Richard, my old RE teacher Ms Brown and that bloke on Oxford Street who marches up and down with a loud haler quoting the bible. Kind of puts you off?
The trouble with Jesus is that he has been packaged into being just too Songs of Praise. This is a shame, as Jesus was hardcore. That is forgotten. He didn't moan about being nailed to a cross when most kids these days moan about having to eat broccoli. Lazy little cunts.
And whilst I'm at it, since when did Steve Jobs perform any miracles? Other than wearing the same outfit for 20 years? Say what you like about God, but he certainly does a good sunset, and rise, and of course everything in between. He just needs to have a bit of slicker advertising and marketing, seeing that's what sells these days. Miracles? Nah fuck it, unless they are put in a 20 second clip on You Tube not interested. God clearly has to modernise to reach full impact, or then again maybe he'll wipe us all out (Japanese Tsunami anyone?) and start again as he's got just too pissed off by how out of control we are with capitalism? Basically what I'm saying is that I'm on board with God. I have more faith in God than an Ipod.
So, why am a talking about God, Jesus, Easter, Death and of course in the end rebirth. Well don't worry i'm not going to turn all born again Christian on you, as some people are so anti god and religion they will stop reading now. But this is not a religious blog, nor do i know enough about it. No today's blog is because as many of you may know, 3 years to roughly the day since my father died. 3 years ago he was found dead alone in his warden controlled flat in Fulham. (death) and also 11 years on Easter Sunday when i first walked into AA and said 'i have a problem with booze. I think I'm an alcoholic'. (rebirth)
It seems a little tright and simple. A little on the yucky side, but those are the facts. I can't ignore them. It has just seemed to turn out that way and as they seem to have fallen on these incredible religious and spiritual days, they are kind of really hard to ignore.
Three years ago after Easter, I was sat in my office (portacabin) at London Scottish FC, when I received a call from my Cousin, who I hadn’t spoken to, or seen since I was a kid. My father had 3 sisters and it was his eldest Sister’s son. He told me the news that my father had been found dead, in a flat in London and he couldn’t do anything, the welsh family were all old and infirm ed and could I sort out the details. I hadn’t seen my Father properly since I was 13. He had been lost to alcoholism since 1987. He had caused destruction and had relegated from normal life, too a life a life of hostels, doss houses, streets, park benches. We never knew where he was. He was a full blown alcoholic.
i'm honest it felt good to do it.
I was stunned at first of course, shocked. I hadn’t thought about him for ages. Got used to not having a father. I remember weirdly Kenny Logan was in the office and he gave me a hug. Then I called my Mum, brothers and girlfriend at the time. Elizabeth, who was amazing and a rock. Then I received a call from someone in AA who talked about themselves for a few minutes before asking me 1 – is it a good time to talk and 2- how am i? Talk about self obsession. They soon received the send off.
Then I started making the calls to the coroner. Try to find out the facts and piece together his life. Basically he lived in a warden controlled flat. On welfare for years. He had apparently been in and out of hospital for years with liver failure and host of other alcohol related problems. He had a hemorrhage in his sleep and was found dead after Easter, he had been laying dead, in his flat for a few days. Last seen before Easter, so i figured a man as egotistical and grandiose as him, born on Christmas Day 1946, probably died on or around Good Friday. Only he could do that!
The coroner was lovely stating that it would have been quick and he wouldn't have suffered. But they were holding the body and had to make funeral arrangements. Jesus, I'd never prepared myself for that.
Anyway, i went to where he lived and spoke to the warden who put some pieces of the jigsaw together and it was then, that the real details of the alcoholics life were brought to life. He lived in flat 3 of an old peoples block for 3 years, looking disheveled and tramp like most of the time. Leaving early to go and drink with his pals on Shepperd's Bush Green and coming back late at night. He said he didn't have kids (3 of us) and had effectively blocked out his past. (I don't blame him or am angry or hurt, it's just the pain of alcoholism - imagine normal people saying how can you do that? Too painful for him i guess so much easier to say you didn't have any)So, i got the keys to his flat. I needed to see where he died. How he lived and get any details, papers and articles. The warden warned it wasn't nice. That he had been dead in bed for days. I was with my Mum and Elizabeth. I wanted to go alone, but they insisted.
Nothing prepared us for that flat. A small place. We opened the door and the stench of death was overwhelming. The heating was on full blast, it was a mild Easter and it was just a horrible smell. Disgusting. On the left was the kitchen. Bare, no cutlery, plates or anything. Just an ironing board with a book on it. A Rebus book from Ealing hospital library and rather ironically a book on health. In the fridge was an old fish and chip dinner out of date by 5 weeks.
Then the living room. Bare. 1 chair. A guitar, Free newspapers. Hospital papers and that was it. Empty. soulless.
Then bathroom. Filthy. Covered in blood on walls and toilet. Like he had been throwing up blood for years. A horrid state,
And finally the worse room. The bedroom. A room on looking that was an utter synopsis of the end of the road for an alcoholic. Fuck Tracey Ermin's Bed installation. If i was to do one entitled alcoholism. i would reproduce the room. It was horrifying, upsetting, shocking, sad. I was used to it through experience of alcoholics, but it hadn't prepared Elizabeth or My Mum for it. They were visibly upset and shaken.
The stench was horrid. There was blood on the empty bed where he had died. There were clothes and knee deep rubbish all around the room. Empty bottles of vodka, cider and High strength lager strewn around. Blood spattered paperwork next to the bed. an umbrella open on bed. Just shit and devastation. Fuck me. It was just grizzly death place.
I had to look around for his wallet. So i found his trousers on floor. And this to me sums up alcoholism for those of you who don't understand it is a mental illness with a massive ego and self esteem divorced from reality. He had a pair of chinos (shit stained) with a dressing gown cord as a belt and in the pocket of these trousers which signified someone who had given up, were 2 combs. 2 combs! Clearly he still thought he 'had it' even at the end. That is the delusion of alcoholism, and always makes me smile when i think about it. Alcoholism is tragic funny. You have to see the humour to feel the sadness.
His wallet was a Freedom Travel pass and i found a cash card, money (fuck me can i have 25 years of child support payments please?) a picture of him, which we didn't recognise, yet did at same time. The arrogant menacing look and the nose broken and face ravaged with booze) and i found a piece of paper with 2 names and numbers. 1 a woman he was with for a while but who left him to go to New Zealand, her number and the other, my name 'Nicki (as he called me) Evans (son) and my number. I think that got me the most. Clearly it was numbers to contact in case someone found him. Like he knew his fate, Prepared for it. He carried me around with him throughout. Makes me cry. As i passed his flat so many times, i lived 2 miles away and i never knew he was there.
I took in the scene. Said a prayer. Talked to him. We took some paperwork and left. We were all stunned. Went for a coffee and sat in stunned silence and shock and sadness. Elizabeth never knew or heard about him, but she was so sad to see someone end up like that. If someone who doesn't know alcoholism or know the person at all, felt a connection and sadness on seeing that - then it can have a profound effect on people's attitudes to alcoholism. My Mum was so upset as she married this charismatic man, full of life and fun and stature. She had 3 children with him, she went through years of horrific alcoholism with him, yet for her to see his final years like this was massively upsetting for her. Tragic. It left a print in time on all of our minds.
And for me? I don't know. He was my father. My hero. I looked up to him, Sought his approval. i was his son. I was upset of course, But i guess 10 years in AA, helping lots of newcomers or low bottom drunks, going to hostels etc - made me sort of used to what i had seen. I was also there to do a job, get my father buried with dignity and organise the details. I was shocked but i think i had better preparation than E and Ma. Having said that, it still shook the fuck out of me. Though if I'm being honest i had buried emotions years ago. and i still suffer from it. A little on the emotionless side. And i was struggling with this conflict. I saw the sadness for all alcoholics and i felt the personal pain of losing my father like this.
So those were the circumstances. A few things that stuck in my mind. The warden said my Dad was funny and joking that he discovered Charlotte Church. I emailed her management team and they had never heard of Mike Evans. I'm not sure she frequented Shepherds Bush Green much, though i admire his Grandiosity.
The other was my brother Rob, organising the funeral dorectors and getting a discount deal. Great businessman, his Dad, a born bullshitting salesman would have been proud.
I want to put what i said at his funeral. 8 of us there. Mortlake Crematorium. No-one there post 1987. Another example of how alcoholism robs you of life. A vivid example. It was a long slow suicide. A living death. A textbook case of alcoholism.
Here are the words i wrote and said at the funeral as we got him cremated to the sound of Welsh Male Voice Choir singing Abide with Me, and also fantastically the Theme Tune to Minder. (idea Mark my eldest brother) The last time we were together as a family. A happy nostalgic memory before the alcoholism took over. Here are the words i shall end this blog with. And if anyone is struggling to accept alcoholism as a disease read on. If anyone wonders why I'm a passionate supporter of AA read on. If anyone wonders why i believe David Michael Evans to be a powerful example in death then read on. He is an inspiration for me. The reason i do marathons and want sobriety and want to do great things. I don't want a long lonely alcoholic death. Sometimes i don't feel good enough. Don't know what it is to be man. But in this time i felt a man Here it is;. I knew what to do. I felt God. I felt compelled. I felt at peace. Here are the words from the funeral. Thank you for reading ;
David Michael Evans – 1944 – 2009 – My Father. Dad
My memories of my father are slightly faded. I last saw him when his Grandaughter, Nadia Eloise was born 18 years ago in 1991, I was 18 myself. I think that is why i have felt so warm and protective of Nadia. He was dressed all in green, though I don’’t think you could call him the green goddess. I saw him for 20 minutes.
Before that, I last saw him when I was 13 years old. Just a boy, all Miami Vice pastel colours and acne.
It seems strange talking about my father – when all my memories I have of him are as a boy. The builders bum, the endless mutterings, the dodgy DIY, the stash of adult mags, the Farah's, the B&H, the Ford Granada's, the beard, the accent, the size of him, the nose, the eyes, the stare.
He was a big man, both in size and character. He was funny – but I used to draw the line at his corned beef hash and marrow fat peas.
He reminded me of a cross between a Welsh Regan and Carter from the Sweeney, all cheap nylon suits and Celtic charisama.
But He was my Dad and I loved him so. When we lost him to the booze, I remember being so sad and asking why?
Me, Rob and Mark (my brothers) went to visit him in the Salvation Army to plead with him to sort himself out, to stop drinking, to be our Dad again. He couldn’t and didn’t – he was ill. I remember feeling so sorry for him and so sad that it was tragic – and now years later that is the overriding feeling I have now. Sad and tragic –
Then my thoughts of my father were as a boy – But Now I am a man, and I still feel that hurt today. To see his last few years and how he lived makes me sad. All that talent, all that love. Such a shame
He missed so much in that last 20 years. His son’s growing up, his granddaughters Nadia and Jade. His Sisters, 3 Welsh grand slams, my 1st comedy gig, my London
In many ways he was a stranger, a distant Dad over the past 20 years. But he was my dad, our Dad. And in his sad death he becomes alive in us all – his family and friends.
Death is so sad. A loss, however it can do good things – and that can happen out of Dad’s death. It has reconnected us with him, with our past, it has put him back with the ones who loved him. Today we are here, together to honour, to remember, to pay our respects even when you didn’t know you had any to give.
He was ill, he was lost, he was alone and now he isn’t. He is here – with us, with his family and friends and will soon be with his father and mother -he is going home, to Llanelli, to Wales
So Dad, it has come full circle, all the things that we didn’t get the chance to say then – we can say now. I forgive you, We forgive you, I love you, We love you - you are my Dad and you will always be so in my heart, in my head and in my life. Stay with us Dad this time and never let go – you are missed even if you never thought you were – We never stopped loving you.
The pain is over for you. It is time to let go. To find peace – we are reunited and I hope and pray that we all pause for 1 moment to think of a good memory of David Michael Evans (or whoever you miss or have lost and loved) , a funny moment that will make you smile………
I love you Dad. Goodbye – May God love you forever
RIP David Michael Evans
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