When I think of my father in life, I think of him in three stages.
The first was the man who I lived with in South Africa before March 1988.
The second was the man who came to Australia in 1988 and lost his business in 2003
The third was the man who descended into madness and dementia diagnosed in 2013 and passing away in 2023
Each of those men came with a certain mode of operating and relating to himself and the world.
My Father was a complex man. He was sensitive, intense, devoted, and a loner.
He had a difficult upbringing, an only child to a single Mother post world war 2 with an absent Father and living in South Africa with no family support of any kind.
He never spoke of his childhood so I only know smatterings.
I feared him growing up. Many people did. He was silent and seething.
He was also devoted and principled.
His family were his life. I only truly appreciated that many years later.
He was not a drinker or a man with vices. He did not engage in anything other than his work, his family, his love of sport and the Jewish community
Sport suffused everything especially as he founded what became an iconic nationwide chain of retail sports stores called Varsity Sports.
Our garden was an extension of the stores, tennis court, cricket nets, trampoline, a garden large enough to play football in, a games room and gym and then our boats on the Vaal river where we would most weekends and ski.
Extended family came though my Mothers side and our home was filled with it and by it.
It was a fortunate life. It unfolded within the toxicity that was apartheid South Africa but that was in the background for me and my Brother.
My parents saw the writing on the wall and made whatever decisions they needed to make to bring us to Australia in March 1988.
I am today almost the same age as my Father was when he emigrated and that makes me see it through a wholly different lens.
The lens is one that is humbling and incredulous because I can not imagine what it actually would have taken to start again in the way that he did at that stage of life.
And so begins the second stage of knowing my Father.
It is hard to distinguish the second stage clearly because we each went on a journey when we came to Australia, and those journeys were independent of one another and disconnected us from each other.
It is hard to think fondly of those years. What I can recollect if reflecting on my Fathers character was his commitment to recreating his mini business empire, his work ethic, his commitment to put aside his own needs for those of his family, and his quiet perseverance.
So much of what he did was silent or in silence and done with a layer of stern, stoic resolve.
I have inherited that same trait and it colors so much of my own behaviour often to my detriment.
My Brother and I struggled almost from the moment the plane touched down in Sydney.
We suffered alone, I think because we had never really suffered before and did not know what to do with it.
In South Africa we feared something different, my Fathers sterness. Being summoned to the wood panelled study, reading Shakespeare to him, the same paragraph over and over again, and understanding in no uncertain terms that the way to answer the phone was with a “Michael Britton speaking good evening”
We feared him and so did all my friends.
Tony was a powerhouse.
In Australia it was a different fear. It for him, became about his economic survival and his identity.
My journeying took me to an Ashram in Ashfield, to the world of Orthdox Jewry in Jerusalem and Bondi, to Seattle and to letting go and then to completely removing many mantles.
My parents allowed me to travel my own paths. They were many, varied and messy. They did not get in my way or stand in my way.
They did the same with my Brother.
During those years my Father began to disappear in all domains. He retreated to his study where he spent hours designing newspaper adverts or doing stock counts and purchase orders.
When Luggageland eventually went into administration in the early 2000’s that was devastating for him I think.
That experience fundamentally changed him and he never really worked again.
He attempted various things but something was broken.
In 2013 my Brother passed away. That was traumatic and painful and anguishing.
That death created a hole and a wound from which I have never really recovered.
My Father was diagnosed with dementia within weeks of Gary’s passing.
His descent had stages.
In the beginning he became irritating and frustrating. He would ask stupid questions. He would forget things, make silly mistakes, misplace things and get in the way.
Then came the stage of starting to recognise that he actually had a disease. People started to ignore him and forget about him especially as his behavious became embarrassing and right in their faces. It included things like throwing food, losing his license and erratic and irrational opinions and behaviours.
That descent continued for quite some time, guttural noises, touching people inappropriately, filling cups to overflowing, taking food off people’s plates and the noises became the thing because they were really hard to be around.
And then the more challenging stages, incontinence, immobile, dribbling, not speaking, not recognising and not knowing.
What was extraordinary to watch was two things
The first was that growing up and as far back as I can remember my father was a man who would shut down. The smallest thing would shut him down and he could shut down for days at a time, brooding and scary.
In the embrace of dementia nothing shut him down. Nothing bothered him and he needed for nothing, literally nothing.
The second was his state of presence and emotion especially towards the end. When he would see us or anybody he would just cry. He would hold your gaze, absolutely present and just cry.
And that is how I will most remember him except for the last two occasions that I saw him.
The first was on Monday of last week. His eyes were vacant. There was nothing there. No recognition, no acknowledgement, no anything.
I knew his time had come and on that occasion I kneeled down next to him, stroked his arm and gave him permission, if such a thing is needed, to go and be with my Brother.
He passed away 4 days later.
Losing my Father at this time of my life and his, is the circle of life.
Losing him now is also a relief.
I had images of him in a nursing home, sitting in a corner, day on day, year on year, vacant, alone and a burden to everyone.
He spared us that. He spared my Mother that.
It was a gift.
And his gifts were many, most notably his commitment to my Mother and hers to him.
Of everything that he created and everything that he endured nothing stands out more than the way that my parents took care of one another.
They did it when they worked together in South Africa, they did it when they navigated a new life in Australia and they did it through the journey of dementia.
Almost to the end my Father would bring my Mother cups of tea or simply stand over her or by her when she worked and he would always look at her with such devotion even when he had no idea anymore of who she was.
When I think of my Father I think of 3 things, kindness, integrity, intensity.
My Father never ever made it about him. He was quiet, often alone and always looking to serve others so far back as I can remember.
He was a man of huge integrity. He was fiercely loyal, honest to a tee and never spoke ill of anybody.
And he was intense, crazy intense.
I know I have a lot of him in me. Some serves me and some absolutely does not.
What I do know is that we were so very fortunate to have a man like that in our lives.
For me I lost him many years ago and so his final passing has been for the most part a relief but in that relief I know that I have been blessed to be given the Man who was My Father.
Rest in Peace Pops, and if you are with Gaza, no doubt you gave him a clip on the ear, he gave you a push, and then you both laughed before embracing for eternity.
I love you
Your Son
Michael