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“You don't remember what happened. What you remember becomes what happened.”
― John Green, An Abundance of Katherines
Dad died on Saturday 9th February 2008. Until then he had spent over two years battling with the physical, psychological and familial effects of cancer.
Below I have written a record of dad's life with cancer as I remember it. It isn't perfect and it is a very personal record. I am sure that others have their stories to tell too. If you knew dad it would be great for you to add to his story and sign up for free and make a comment.
He was diagnosed as having prostate cancer whilst in hospital undergoing tests. He was told the bad news behind a curtain on a busy hospital ward on the day of his 41st wedding anniversary 2005. Dad shed a tear, and then started to get on with the business of living with cancer.
Further tests revealed that the cancer had spread to a lymph node and that dads treatment pathway was limited to controlling the spread of the cancer over time.
Dad quickly learned to cope with his cancer and he made himself a promise that he would finish off his final months at work before retirement. This thought kept dad focused and motivated during his time off for recuperation. Our first visit out with dad was at the Christmas Markets in Manchester. He was still a little fragile, but with the help of his treatment he became stronger. On Christmas Eve we made a traditional visit to Hebden Bridge and then on Christmas Day, for the first time ever, we had dinner at a restaurant with no extravagance spared.
I was always conscious of dads illness and of his limited time left with us, so I made a vow to spend as much time as possible with him. Thus, on several occasions, I asked Dad to become my 'photographers assistant'. In February 2006 I had a commission to photograph Elizabeth Gaskell's house. Dad and I spent a memorable day cooing over the late Georgian interior (although dad was more interested in the plumbing than the architecture). I took a shaky shot of him setting up the lighting in one of the reception rooms. Dad proved to be an awful assistant. After ten minutes of help he would often get caught up with anybody and everybody. He always found something in common with whoever he met. Invariably, I always completed the commission without my assistant, but dad walked away content and having made many friends.
During his first time in hospital we made a promise that we would all go out to Paris together and we managed to fly out there in March of 2006 with Mum, my wife, brother and his wife. He particularly wanted to visit the Pantheon and an English pub called 'TheBombadier ', where upon a previous visit Dad had declared the day as 'the best day of his life'. Dad was prone to having many days which were prosaically declared as the best day of his life. Such days also included my wedding in Venice, my brothers wedding, Mauritania, Algeria and Grinzing in Vienna. He had so many happy days.
Back in the UK life got back to as normal as possible. I remember a particular visit by Mum and Dad to our home where we went out for a walk around the local park. Here I took a few snaps of dad. He seemed happy yet contemplative. He never, ever took a single day for granted and he seemed to absorb each second of each day and chew it over in his mind.
Dad was only 63 when he was diagnosed. Just over one year off his retirement from work. After his recuperation it was typical of dad to want to get back to work and finish his time there. Here he spent several happy months working as a plumber at the local infirmary.
During his time at the infirmary, my wife, who also worked there, remembers hearing an explosion whilst walking down a corridor. Amidst the deafening tone of the fire alarms, dad emerged pink faced (and splattered) from behind a bathroom door, after mixing a lethal concoction of drain cleaner to unblock a particularly awkward urinal.
In the August of 2006 my family and I rented a cottage within the grounds of Rievaulx Abbey in Yorkshire and mum and dad came along for a couple of days. We spent a wonderful evening (with the abbey ruins to ourselves) picnicking in the chancel and dancing to jazz music. Once again, dad had a contemplative moment on his own and I caught him on camera leaning against the ancient columns of Rievaulx where thousands had passed centuries before. He wasn't sad - he just wasn't willing to let a special occasion such as this slip between his fingers.
Time seemed to fly by, and soon it was a year since dads original diagnosis. It was also time for dad to retire. Mum and Emily (his grand daughter) threw a surprise party for him at the house. Dad was in his element surrounded by family and friends.
Soon, it was time for another celebration - my brother Paul's wedding to Kath. Just before the wedding Paul had organised for Dad to go to the local health club and have some pampering - he never forgot that, and always talked about it afterwards. It was a day where we all forgot our problems and focused on celebrating Paul and Kath's marriage. Dad, as ever became part of the entertainment during the evening celebrations, donning the best man's kilt and subsequently losing it on the dance floor.
Christmas came around once again and we made our traditional trip up to Hebden Bridge and I made a couple of sketches of our journey. This was a particularly difficult time for Dad because he was also dealing with the news that his sister in law, Joan, had been diagnosed with a terminal brain tumour. There were times when Dad wasn't quite himself and I remember him coming up to the house and talking things through. Joan died in January in the new year.
In February, I had another commission to photograph some dry stone walling skillfully executed by the late Raven Frankland. Dad came along to Cumbria and met his wife Dr Frankland (an eminent botanist) on her farmstead. The Frankland's had single handedly saved Pendragon Castle from destruction by meticulous archaeology - slowly revealing it's secrets over a significant number of years. Dad was amazed by the C17th farm and interior and also struck by Dr Franklands stories about her late husband and his ancestors. Later we went out with her farmhand who had gained an MBE for services to farming and agriculture, and I remember thinking that Dad should get an MBE for the way that he had coped with his illness. I managed to get a photo of dad taking a photo next to the castle. Dad also helped me on numerous occasions throughout the next months, photographing the interiors of churches and the like. I was always secretly pained by his condition and I think that he realised this. It was during these times that we seemed to form a silent bond of mutual support.
In April my wife and I managed to get hold of an allotment and throughout the next few months dad chipped in every now and again to help us get things into shape. It started out as a bare patch of earth. We managed to get hold of an old greenhouse from my cousin and dad helped us put it together and install the glass. Whilst installing a particularly awkward piece of glass he cut himself and the dried spots of blood remain on the glass there to this day - a secular shrine surrounded by tomatoes, chillies, cucumbers and the faint scent of lavender.
We also stayed over at Beverley in April during the Grand National. Dad and I sneaked out to the Green Dragon on one occasion and had a couple of pints. He also loved an afternoon spent in the Monks after a trip around the Minster. During this time Dad bought a silver cross at the Saturday Market which I wear with pride today. I remember getting up early on the Sunday before leaving and sketching the Bar.
In May I was involved with organising a Heritage Skills event at Fountains Abbey for our skilled Lead Workers, and Dad was asked to come along and provide some tuition for the local visiting school kids. The weather was great and dad thoroughly enjoyed himself chatting to the hundreds of people who were interested in the arts of building conservation. It's comforting to think that dad may have inspired others in their chosen careers and in this way his memory lives on.
During the skills weekend we talked about our forthcoming planned trip to Verona. Dad had been before and he kept telling me of the wonderful architecture. Dreams became reality when we arrived in the home of Romeo and Juliet in early June. He asked me if I had anything interesting in mind for photographing; and he looked bemused when I said the door knockers of Verona. I also particularly remember one balmy night after dinner where we sat in Piazza Bra and whilst listening to the convivial chat of mum, dad and Charlie, I sketched the scene in front of me.
It was shortly after this time that dad had received the news that his cancer had spread to his hips. It was proposed that dad start a heavy programme of Chemotherapy combined with a mind blowing concoction of drugs - but he needed to wait for a little until certain drugs settled. Dad wasn't phased by the latest diagnosis, in fact he seemed to go into overdrive and at the end of July he helped my brother build a conservatory from scratch.
Throughout the summer I had been preparing for a photographic exhibition of Edgar Wood buildings to be shown at the Long Street Methodist Church. The Church is a wonderful grade II* listed building by Wood which is under threat. The exhibition was due in September, and in late August I remember feeling particularly stressed over some shots that I needed to take. Dad, kindly reminded me of his photographic assistancy skills and I (somewhat reluctantly) agreed to let him come out and help me. I took a photo of Dad just before setting off and he looked in the pique of health; in fact, he had just undergone his first bout of Chemotherapy. This didn't stop Dad having a pint of beer with me during our trip out - talking about the fortunes of our beloved Man City. After a slow start I managed to get two defining shots which were put into the exhibition - firstly: F W Jacksons gravestone and secondly Elm Street School. The gravestone is in the crematorium where Dad will be cremated, and whilst there I will remember the good time we had setting up the shot in between funerals.
The exhibition took place in September at the Church. It was dedicated to Mum and Dad. I was so proud to see him there, even though he wasn't well after another bout of Chemotherapy. Later, Dad came along to Leeds to return some exhibition boards to a historic plastering contractor, and it was at this time that I noticed that dad was looking pale and tired.
Dad's health seemed to take a turn for the worst during October, and he spent an anxious time on an isolation ward in hospital after being diagnosed with Neutropenia - which left him breathless for the remaining months of his life. Nevertheless, he still managed to make friends with the staff and patients on the ward. His spirit still remained unbroken after he was taken to hospital again with suspected DVT, but it turned out to be a condition caused by his cancer.
In spite of being told that the Chemotherapy he was undergoing wasn't working (and subsequently stopped) - Dad still continued to try and live as fulfilling a life as possible. I managed to take him out to Neston, Stockport and Manchester. As late as November last year we managed to go out on a trip to a local salvage yard in Yorkshire with his brother in law Tony and nephew Bob. We took a few photographs of him with some statues of the Blues Brothers and these were to be some of the last photo's taken of Dad.
The months of December and January took on a sombre tone.
Dad became increasingly ill and spent most of Christmas and the new year in hospital. I remember a particularly stark day spent at Christie's where he was told that his cancer may have spread further. A later scan revealed that his cancer had spread to his liver and this was a difficult fact to take for Dad. But, he managed to keep going, this time I think more for others than himself.
Just a week before he died he managed to get out to the local for a spot of lunch. I had downloaded a couple of video's of Hulme (where he was born) and Mauritania and Algeria where he worked and spent some of the most memorable years of his life. We watched them on my ipod in the pub. We later went back to the house and he got out his photographs of Algeria and for a short time we forgot about the cancer as we were engrossed in tales of billet life which would put 'Auf Wiedersehen' Pet to shame.
Just before Dad went into hospital I managed to break the patio door and I remember dad breathless and pale as alabaster, crouching down on the floor trying to fix it. He worked and endeavoured right up until the end.
During an earlier trip out to Manchester to pick up some photographic prints we talked about his illness and his thoughts on dying. He told me that he wasn't afraid of dying and that he had had the most amazing time since his diagnosis. He also noted how privileged he was to have had a wonderful life, and a caring wife in Mum. Over the previous year, Dad had made a secret and concerted effort to prepare Mum and the house for his leaving. People who live nearby may have seen Dad tinkering about the house, fixing the guttering, building a new fence and installing a downstairs loo. He traded the old car in for a new one, which was just the right size for mum. He told me that he had marked the quality of his life on a cancer assessment form as 85% during his Chemotherapy. The fact is that dad had managed to defeat his illness in his mind, and value the days he had left. This is not to say that he wasn't always happy, and I must pay a tribute to the never ending work, devotion and care that my mum has given Dad. One of his fondest activities was simply sitting in the back conservatory watching mum in the garden. The garden became dad's refuge and mental stimulant and must have added months to his life. I have fond memories of Dad sitting with his binoculars and a book in his hand recording which birds had visited the garden that day.
Dad died in a hospice nearby. He died on my wedding anniversary (he wished us a 'happy anniversary') - a fact of which I am proud and not sad.
Dad's funeral service will be at Long Street Methodist Church - a fitting place.
Dad, to me, you were a father, mentor, soul-mate and best friend.
I tell people, when asked, that I am fine and put on a smiling face - but I am not, and as I write this, I weep for your loss and what it has done to me inside.
Our faithful and friendly cat Smooch. As I write this, he passed away unexpectedly two days ago on February 2nd, 2018, and it's hard to express how much I miss this member of our family. This picture was taken less than a week earlier. In fact, this is the last picture I have of him. It's not a remarkable picture but it's an important picture to me as a way to remember him close to the end of his life. We adopted him from the King County animal shelter in 2006 as an adult cat, and they estimated he was around three years old. We wanted to take in an adult cat because more often people want to adopt a kitten, and there are so many older cats who need and deserve a good home. I remember he was on the cat litter in his cage, looking forlorn but friendly. It's hard to explain why a specific cat catches your attention but he got mine. We asked to see him, so they took him out and put him in a room with me and my wife. He immediately jumped up on my lap and it was clear to me he had a winning personality. He loved warmth and would crawl underneath our bed cover and sleep underneath my arm and next to my body. Later in his life, he picked up the habit of sleeping on my shoulder and neck. Since I work at home most days, he would be in the chair behind me napping and keeping me company. When we adopt a pet, we know that one day he or she will leave us. But when that day finally comes, it's not any less distressing. All in all, he was a great companion, he enriched our lives immeasurably, and I'll miss him dearly. Remember to treasure every day with your pet.
I remember the green of late-summer days...
I remember some of the details of my August visit to this old favorite abandoned house, but more than that I remember how it feels.
I hope to show you both... the details and the feelings.
Will you tell me what you see so I know how I have done?
Explore #189
Con l'augurio che possiate sempre sorridere :)
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Hope you guys will always be able to smile :D
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Don't use this photo without permission
Taken at Swingers restaurant, enjoying the night life. Had some good chili cheese fries, the service was terrible. I've heard that they are infamously known for their rude service, which is very strange. This was the last shot of the 24 exposure roll, pushed to 400.
1/30 f/1.8
Nikon N2020 - E Class 50mm - 200 Kodak Gold
Santa Monica, CA
I know its a day late, but we (Peggy and I) didnt get out to the cemetery until this morning. We visited Riverside National Veterans Cemetery.
This POW MIA memorial was very moving!!!
Thanks to all the men and women who who serve this country without a second thought... you have made this country what it is. And to those who have served and died for our right to freedom, you will always be remembered!!! Thank you all for our freedom!!!!!
There are a few more pictures in the comments below.
05/30/2011
"The process of becoming is a complicated one. Doubt lingers around every bend with the promise of failure. Who we become as we become is not as important as the process--because it is through this toil, this tussle with fate, that we truly begin to understand the intricacies behind our birth." ~Christopher David
These images are from my very first shoot with a model. Courtney has certainly grown, as has his connection with more established photographers. As I've watched him grow I've debated my own, unsure if I'd successfully kept pace. In speaking with him today he commented on my growth and insisted my work had taken on a more professional appearance. Out of curiosity I decided to revisit our first shoot, and what I found surprised me. While indeed the general range within my portfolio had improved, the passion for capturing honest, pure, unfiltered moments was there, even then, as much as it is now. The polish, or professional appearance, is quite a compliment--but beyond that, the ability to capture authenticity in any image is all I ever want, or hope to accomplish. So as I continue to become, I see how important it is to revisit those moments when doubt weighed heavy but commitment to growth continually pushed you through.
Thanks Courtney, for giving me my start, and reminding me of the journey.
{Taken: Sunday, November 21, 2010 | 2:47 PM}
“Yes I am back , so are you , girls like me are much more eager to take control in bed , we have that certain something to offer men like you”
....when I collected Pullip ;)
Princi (Principessa, 2004) was my first one and now she's the only Pullip at home; she's old and her face has yellowed, but she has all my love, she made me enter the world of Asian dolls that led me to BJDs !
www.youtube.com/watch?v=vNNYci5E0gI
Merci Michiel, je ne savais pas pour le titre, tu m'as aidé...
la sim - The Rose Theatre
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180/365
I was originally going for a rather different concept but it really wasn't coming across. Then I remembered I had shot some photos of the frozen stream in hopes of using them as an overlay, and lo and behold this is what I came up with! Titled of course after the song by Adele.
Remember how the otherday they blocked off part of the road leading to the forest but I was still able to walk in? Yeah well I don't know that I'll even be able to get that far anymore. While driving out yesterday I almost got stuck in a ditch while pulling to the side to let another car go by (the roads really only suitable for one car) and if it had been only a few feet farther I would most likely have been sliding down a hill. Not safe. Also evidently with a permit people can cut down trees in the forest for Christmas trees. The whole time I was taking this there was a family a few hundred feet away searching for the perfect tree. I really wanted to do a different photo but this was really the only place where they couldn't completely watch me take photos, I had to fake landscape photography for a while while they got far enough away haha.
Another N&W shot from Des Moines in 1975. This time, GP7 #2441 heads light eastward (away from the shot) with a crew member getting a bit of fresh air riding outside the cab.
They sail away from the harbour of Horta on the Paula da Gama from Graciosa (another Island from the Azores Archipelago) to unknown destination.
I explicitly remember this. I used to be a conservative goodie goodie god fearing south Indian iyengar brahmin boy who was nuts about English music, in particular Michael Jackson. I was quite famous for this eccentricity as well. I always used to win 1st prize in the school singing competition for Patel house team. It always was a Michael Jackson song, from 3rd grade to 10th grade. I still have all of those certificates and medals. When it came to the school correspondent's funeral anniversary, it was always "Will you be there" which was the last song of the event, your guess is as good as mine as to who sang it.
I remember Michael Jackson's history. I already had "Off the Wall", "Thriller", "Bad" and "Dangerous" on tape. I used to beg each and every cousin visiting and put up a scene, not eat food, study straight through the night to score good marks in school tests. All for that one cassette which costs Rs. 150 every 5 - 7 years when MJ releases an album. In 1995 however the scene was different. My dad's company was liquidated and shamefully we found it hard to manage one square meal a day after me, my brother and my cousin devoured all the little family money in the name of school fees.
Grandpa did not have the usual Re. 1 he used to give me as pocket money. His pension of Rs. 350 a month was not enough to buy rations at home. That does not stop me from laying my hands on this beauty now does it? I found work. I used to pack worms in a aquarium after school for 2 hours a day. My family never knew any of this, not to this moment. I used to get paid Rs. 4 every day. I waited. The very thought of touching those worms used to make me puke everyday when I used to have dinner. I skipped meals, I suffered but it was worth the effort.
I managed Rs. 250 and I took 29 C from perambur to Gemini Flyover. Spencer Plaza was about 6 - 7 kilometers from Gemini Flyover, I think. I did not have money after spending Rs. 3 on bus ticket since the cassette was a double pack. It must cost more than Rs. 150, I knew. I decided to walk. I walked, I was almost out of breath by the time I crawled my way inside Music World. The manager knew instantly at my sight what I wanted. He asked me to wait. I did, for 3 hours. It was about 1 pm when a carton labeled "EPIC/SONY" arrived and they stashed out the cassettes on the racks. Like a hyena pouncing on a carcass I jumped on the rack, despite no one being there since it was a Monday morning. I paid Rs. 250 and I happily rushed to buy several packets of mineral water and some bovonto to put off the fire that was burning inside all of me and of course, get rid off that dehydration.
I came home, took out the AIWA walkman I had sneaked out of my dads locker the earlier night and I plugged in. What happened next was nothing short of 15 amps of electricity flow through you the next half of the day.
Every year on the midnight of the 29th of August I play "Man in the Mirror" to remind myself it all starts and ends with myself. The good, the bad and the ugly. Today is the first time in my life I will play Man in the Mirror without the man who made it all possible.
Tomorrow is a day to remember, a day to cherish this man and to thank him for his gift that has changed things for me and many people that words cannot tell. If you feel it, then be here.
Meanwhile, Happy Birthday. King of Pop!
Canon EOS 400D with the Canon EF 50MM F/1.4 USM. Manual, F/8.0 at 1/200th of a Second, Canon Speedlite 430EX fired, Manual 1/1.
All Rights Reserved. Owner and Usage Rights belongs to Dilip Muralidaran. Any use of this work in hard or soft copy or transfer must be done with the expressed consent of Dilip Muralidaran in written. Failing to do so will result in violation as per Section 63 of the Indian Copyrights Act, 1957 & Forgery, Fraud, Misrepresentation and Misinformation as per the Indian Penal Code Section 420 leading to severe legal consequences.
Our Manhattan office looked out at the WTC, so a month later I took a few pictures of the cleanup that was underway. The sight of the massive 110 story buildings that once towered over us compacted down to ground level left me numb.
Oct 2001