My father... my person, tragically died, fairly fast and suddenly on 25 April 2025, after taking ill on the Thursday before Easter... a short 10 days later he was no longer with us.
I will be forever grateful for having taken the time to phone him, that Monday evening before he took ill, to catch him up on new. We had good chat - as we always did. I told him about Rina (my ex mother-in-law) having died the week before. And also about our wonderful holiday to Rwanda.
He'd tuned 82 in February. He again mentioned the letter I wrote him for his 80th birthday and how much he appreciated it. I felt was way too soon, and that I should have waited until his 90th. And that I was looking forward to another wonderful family holiday to The Cavern when we would celebrate that. He told me he didn't think he's make it that long. I bushed him off and said of course he would... but I think he knew he was getting weaker already.
By Thursday evening he was in hospital and on oxygen, and by Friday he was sedated and on a ventilator. In the next few days he'd get better and then worse in cycles, by the reports I got, and finally we were told he suffered a large heart attack at some point and it seemed as if he'd had at least one stroke too. By Friday 22 April it seemed clear the prognosis did not look good. I booked a flight and went up for the week-end to see him. I got to see him on Saturday & Sunday afternoons, and it was REALLY tough to see him so weak, and suddenly old-looking, and so frail and debilitated. being on a ventilator he was not conscious or able to communicate at all, but he seemed to be able to hear us. So we spent time talking to him, comforting him and encouraging him to fight and get better. He seemed to be able to hear us and his eye would open, and widen, at times, and he'd move his right hand, lifting it to his face, or squeezing the hand that was holding his. We do think he was 'there' and hearing us. We realised he seemed to have irreversible damage and seemed to be deteriorating though and knew he'd hate to have his quality of life compromised. (He was an extremely proud, independent, head strong, active and capable person. He was still working full-time running his business!)
By the Sunday evening he'd got even worse. And they'd had to sedate him more. At that visit I again told him how much he'd meant to me throughout my life. And I told him he didn't need to fight and stay strong. If he was tired and wanted to finally stop and rest he could. I told him we were strong, and we'd all manage without him, and would look after his beautiful wife Rose. I am not sure if he did hear any of this, or if it made any difference. But at lunch time on Monday 25 April he finally released and stopped and went...
I am so grateful I was able to go see and be with him, and to officially say goodbye, as hard as it was to do that.
We all went back again as a family for this 'Celebration of Life' on 20 May. It was a beautiful afternoon at the Pretoria Country Club & Bowls Club - his home from home. There was a Scottish piper, photos and wonderful memories shared, and of course good whiskey.
It is so hard to accept that my dad has actually died, and is no longer here. I find myself wanting to tell him stuff every day. He was one on the first people I'd speak to when anything really good or bad happened in my life. He was my person. I'd thought he'd be there forever...
Ian Fraser – my dad - the man that shaped me.
I feel blessed to have had the father I had. He has always been the constant unwavering thread throughout my life. There to cheer me on when I have had successes, and there through life’s hardships and tragedies. That constant presence and support has immeasurable value. He possessed that rare ability to bear witness, without avoiding or amplifying the situation, but rather just being there with you.
I fully believed he would live to 90 and beyond, he seemed invincible. So, it is almost incomprehensible to me that he is not here. I feel like my very foundation has been shaken. What I really want to do is to phone my dad for support. Because he’d know what to say and somehow, he’d make it feel like everything would be ok.
But I am blessed and thankful for the time we did have; and all that he taught me.
Many of my fondest childhood memories are from spending time with my dad. There would be evening visits to the shop to pick up something needed for dinner. I was always hopeful that a treat would be thrown in, and it often would be, but not always. Ensuring that I knew it was just that, an occasional treat, never to be expected. (I note though that he became a lot more liberal and generous with the concept of treats when it came to his grandchildren!)
I remember sitting on, or near, his lap listening to him reading or playing guitar for us as children. I would be thrilled when he’d make up lyrics to make the song about me.
I'd help him to make dinner, listening to his selection of classical music, which became the backing music to our lives.
I would often phone him at work, when I was bored during school holidays. He’d give me a
question or riddle to solve to keep me occupied. Once he asked me why I
wouldn’t be able to find a live unicorn. At first, I would find the question
annoying. Then I’d start pondering, and then would do some research in the set
of old encyclopedias we had. Suddenly I’d have a eureka moment, a spark of
realisation & understanding. I’d be equally excited & impressed with
myself, and also amused at him for what he had done. I even realised that he
was just trying to defer me, to leave him alone to work for a bit, but I
wouldn’t be able to help myself, I would have to call him immediately to
explain the answer. Feeling a sense of accomplishment!
One afternoon, when I was a teen, we had a lengthy debate about whether ‘ginormous’ was a real word. We eventually decided that if it appeared in the dictionary, then it would accepted as a real word. So off I marched righteously to find the family dictionary… fully expecting to win the argument by not finding it. To my surprise, there was a little handwritten asterisk on the page where it would have fitted, and at the bottom of the page there was a corresponding asterisk and suspiciously, looking like my father’s fountain pen handwriting, a note saying: ‘Ginormous (adjective) very very big.’. And so, I had to concede defeat, because it technically WAS in the dictionary.
He dad taught
us how to think, how to research & figure stuff out, and indeed that a
little humour, creative thinking and rule breaking goes a long way - so not to
take life too seriously.
While he was quite a stickler for being proper – being dressed appropriately, speaking well and behaving with decorum - he also liked to model himself a little on slightly less-proper characters like Winston Churchill, and he had much of the same irreverence.
My dad taught us to be true to ourselves and to work hard. That work ethic of his was legendary. He worked full-time literally right up to the very end, and he’s one of the rare few who would have no regrets about that. In fact, I probably got to see him more in the past few years than I would have otherwise because he worked. He was always off somewhere for a site-visit – and when that was in the Cape, we got to see him too.
He never shied away from a question, or an opportunity to discuss ANY topic. We all know how he loved a good argument! He informed, enlightened and educated us on all and everything and we’d often have epic debates around the dining room table. Most importantly he taught me to think and form opinions for myself – including eventually being bold and brave enough to be able to disagree with him and stand my ground!
I loved afternoons spent in the garage listening to the radio and tinkering about. I loved tagging along with him, sometimes choosing to spend whole days of my holidays with my dad, while he worked - having to wait in the car while he attended meetings. But enjoying the conversations and experiences along the way.
From as far back as I can remember my dad was always there, and I liked nothing better than spending time with him. And that never changed, he was always jolly good company and became a really good friend in my adult years. We had many a dinner and long conversation over a bottle of wine or two.
I always felt like my life choices, decisions and paths were fully mine to make. But that if I wanted or needed to check in with him, he was always there to listen, guide, suggest or support in a gentle and caring way. I was so grateful for how he accepted and understood some of my probably crazy-seeming unconventional ideas and plans.
His relationship with Rose has been a true inspiration. Their bond, and the affection they shared, was truly heart-warming. Rose was the great love of his life and he knew it. I am so glad he found a safe and warm place for his heart. Thank-you Rose for loving our father and teaching him to love so freely too.
He was a wonderful father & marvelous grandpa. It's so hard to find the words to encapsulate the most important and influential person in my life, the man who shaped me and who was such an inspiration to me. I think this short poem -- appropriately --by Robert Burns sums him up best:
"Epitaph on my own Friend
An
honest man here lies at rest,
As
e’er God with His image blest:
The
friend of man, the friend of truth;
The
friend of age, and guide of youth:
Few
hearts like his, with virtue warm’d,
Few
heads with knowledge so inform’d:
If
there’s another world, he lives in bliss;
If
there is none, he made the best of this.”
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