That’s My Boy

I could talk about Dan from several places in his life and all of them would be filled with passion and a single minded determination to succeed. His passion for his beloved sport, Wheelchair Basketball. The pinnacle of his time in the game as a Welsh International player. His happiest time in the game when he played for the Northwest Juniors, and then later when he played for Vikings. He was a team player and proud. If you had been able to ask him today what his proudest moment in the game was, he would tell you, it was winning his first gold medal with the Under 15’s Northwest Junior squad. He told me that day, he still hadn’t reached his limit, the sky was his limit, and he was going for it. He pushed that envelope as far as Welsh International Squad and he was so damn proud to push out in his country’s colours.

When he was a small child, he pushed boundaries, changed perceptions, pushed to do things he wasn’t supposed to be able to do, he learned how to tap dance, sitting down of course, but he learnt anyway. He was fascinated with Michael Flatley and how fast he could dance! He ‘danced’ on stage, sitting down, with his dancing school friends and he loved every second of it. In his head he was flying across that stage with feet of flames! He was giving Michael Flatley a good run for his money!  From that summer show, came a little acting part to play Tiny Tim in the Christmas carol. He upset the fluffy cloud brigade on the front row, who noted a continuity issue with his costume and were quick to point it out. I was politely informed that Tiny Tim only had one crutch and one leg brace and the little boy on the stage was over hamming his part by using two crutches and two leg braces.
I told the woman she had made my day simply because she had looked past the disability and only seen the child. Once she realised her mistake and that Dan was in fact disabled, she was mortified.

From that came the nomination for the Millennium Children of Courage Award, the dunking of his biscuit in the then Prime Minister, Tony Blair’s cup of tea. How he reduced Vinnie Jones to tears, frightened the living day lights out of the Duchess of Kent, upset Joan Collins because he thought she was old and didn’t mind sharing that fact, how he had a deep and meaningful conversation with Chris Eubank about the difference and similarities between Chess and Boxing. How he changed perceptions of the celebrities around him of what it was to be human, regardless of ability or lack thereof. All of this before he was 11.

All those events shaped my son, all those times filled his life up and as each chapter ended, he would start a new one with equal enthusiasm and drive.

His life was littered with ill health, long spells of recovery, even longer spells of hospital stays but through it all it was just something he needed to get over, a challenge for him to overcome.

I could talk for days about individual moments, funny, hilarious moments during his years at basketball, his years as a small child, his sack race win at the age of 5. (We tied the sack around his waist, and he ran with his crutches till he won). I could talk for days about my boy.

All those high times came to an end when his body began to fail him, first with epilepsy, then with kidney issues, then other aspects of his health took a turn and, in the end, the only thing that would save him was a urostomy.

That signalled the end of his time in basketball, he hung up his wheels and said 15 years playing the sport you love is fantastic but now it was hurting him. He retired. His urostomy took place, and not a moment too soon, his body was packing up inside and he was in dire straits with his kidneys.

That operation turned his life around because that was the day I told him, all he had to do was wake up after the surgery and he could have his black Labrador. That gave him something to focus on, his biggest wish for years since Mr Stinky had died was to have a black lab, train it to be his service dog and just spend all his time with said pooch. He trained Ben himself; he took him to Dog training lessons and when they couldn’t take him any further, he learnt the rest of it and trained Ben himself. He became so knowledgeable about dogs; he was like an encyclopaedia of every dog breed!

That is the man I want to talk about, the quiet, funny, sarcastic but very contented man who went for a two mile push every day with his dog down at Talacre. So many people knew him and Ben, he touched so many lives, he made so many people smile. Ben lit up all the dark corners of Dan’s life and completed him. He was utterly devoted to his best friend and side kick. Ben never let him down once, and he never did Ben wrong, not once. It was a love fest.

His proudest moment in recent years was when he got his chest tattoo of his beloved pooch Ben. He loved his tattoos, he loved classic cars, American baseball, (although when I told him it was just British rounders bigged up, he was less than impressed with me), he loved snooker and tennis and he loved Strictly, just so he could argue with me over who was the best dancer. It was a bad day at black rock for him when Bill Bailey won! He learned new skills all the time, he learned how to tie rope knots, intricate rope knots, he learned about sword making, he loved cooking and as well as all that he had an abiding respect for anyone who served in the forces for their country. He was patriotic to the core.

Ben brought about a peacefulness and contentedness in Dan I had never seen before, and it was wonderful. Dan became a very proficient photographer of wildlife and nature, and his new goal was to make a book of all his photographs. He never got that opportunity, but I will fulfil his final wish and complete that last journey on his behalf.

My boy made me proud; he frustrated the hell out of me sometimes, but most of the time he was so funny and kind and so genuinely honest and open that I often sat and wondered how I managed to make such a lovely, perfectly imperfect person.

We were a team me and my boy, we stuck together and fought our way through all the rough times, and we did happy dances during the good times. We travelled, we laughed, we swore (me more than him, but I taught him some new words every day which he happily made use of) we rarely cried, we always challenged ourselves to go as far and as high as we could, and we supported each other in our individual endeavours. He was my biggest champion and supporter, and he would tell everyone about his crazy mum.

I asked him once, if he could change anything about himself at all, what would it be? His answer was simple. He said he would change his disability and he would choose to be a double leg amputee because his own legs were useless anyway and he had never really had anything to do with them. I asked him why he had chosen to be an amputee, he said, because my insides would be working, and it would just be my legs that weren’t.  I asked him why he hadn’t chosen to be able bodied, and he replied, because I’m not, I wouldn’t know how to be that person, I wouldn’t have had the life I’ve had, done the things I’ve done, I would have just been a normal joe and done normal stuff and I wouldn’t have been different. I like being different.

He was different, he was kind, and supportive, sarcastic, and sharp witted, gentle, and caring and he never hurt a single person his whole life. He had a life well lived in his short 32 years, but above all that he was Dan, no apologies, no regrets. He was my beautiful son of whom I am most proud. The boy with the smile in his eyes.

That’s my boy.