Peter Walsh

In the early hours of 8^th January 2006, while most people slept soundly in their beds, Peter Walsh passed away, in his own bed, surrounded by his family.

If there is such a thing as a good way to die, I suppose to most of us that would like it to be that way.

His life was just an ordinary working man's life, yet it was truly extraordinary.

He left no money or property or expensive items. The only things he did give me were male pattern baldness and a big nose. But he also left me with things that have made me an incredibly rich man.

Peter was a small, slightly-built man, but he was a giant in stature and dignity. He towered above pettiness and spite.

He not only spoke about love and tolerance, but practised it on a daily basis. Teaching people that they should be free to think and live the way they chose. Even though this meant that my thoughts and beliefs were the opposite of his own, all he would say was, “That’s your choice, love.”

He had the worst fashion sense known to man, but yet my son, his daughter and I wear his "genes" each and every moment of every day.

Peter had a wonderful singing voice but, just as with his talking voice, hardly anyone heard it. He accepted his standing in life and worked to make sure that his family benefited from his labours. He didn’t want to change the world, just change the lives of those he loved.

He worked as a carpenter, and now lies in a small patch of earth marked only by a wooden cross. People walk by, not knowing who he was or what he did. Rabbits chew the flowers left by his family upon his little plot of land.

He has had his time here on earth, but yet he lives on in the very breath of each one of his children and their children and children’s children.

I am not the sort of person that wins big money on the lottery or scratch cards. I have never won anything just by luck, but yet I’m one of the luckiest people alive, because Peter Walsh was my father!