Note: I am simultaneously posting a msg written by by Alan Kearnley,
Hughie's son, called "Caring for Pops", etc, which I wanted to share
with all of you.  I just wrote this as an introduction to Alan.  I
also posted three articles on my blog about the "Bards of
Glasgow," (the Kearnleys) See prostatecancerblog.net.  I'm sorry for
the length of this, but  it *is* a tribute to a fallen comrade.
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Christmas will mark three months since the passing of my dear friend,
the big, bawdy, beloved Scotsman, HUGH RICHARD KEARNLEY, aged 56. The
subject of this piece, his son Alan, constitutes just a little chunk
of Hughie's immortality -- one-seventh to be exact. But Hughie said ALL
of his kids turned out well, beyond his expectations. Hughie was not a
braggart, and so I believe him. I can only say that If this is so,
then the "House that Hughie Built" is solid indeed. May it last
forever.

Hughie once wrote me: "Whatever love and affection I gave to Alan, he
gave me back in spades." I only "met" Alan recently, and I want to say
to Hughie: "Whatever I gave you in the way of aid and comfort, if
anything, YOU gave ME back in SPADES."   Because it has been such a
pleasure for me to meet Hugh's fine son. He has the soul, the
eloquence, the irreverance, the humor and the intelligence that Hughie
had -- plus a healthy dose of maturity. Don't know if Hugh would object
if I said the kid was an improved version. . .

There are a lot of things that, in spite of our intimate
conversations, I don't know about Hughie's personal life. That's why I
call him the "Unknown Soldier."  For example, Hughie said he "had bad
karma" with the ladies, and it's as if he pressed the "Plonk" button
on all of them. That's not to say Hughie didn't love women -- he
married two of them. Alan is the product of his second marriage. Hugh
and Alan's mother divorced when Alan was about 9, and Alan lived with
his mother since then. Hughie always maintained contact with Alan,
though, spent weekends and holidays with his son. But under the
circumstances, they weren't that close.

Even so, it's hard to loose the bonds between father and son.

Soon after Alan found out, in December '06, that Hughie had incurable
prostate cancer, he moved in with his Dad. From then on, he became not
only his father's companion, son and friend, but also his primary
caregiver. (See companion post by Alan: "Caring for Pops", etc.) I
wrote about Alan's devotion to Hughie in "His Children Were His Best
Poetry." Alan's attentiveness to his father's needs was -- in a word,
biblical. But what *surprised* and *moved* me the most was how Alan
"micromanaged" Hughie's treatment.

Hughie had been diagnosed with PC that had already spread to the
bones, and his situation was pretty hopeless. All the doctors could
offer him was palliative care. Nevertheless, Hughie wrote, when Alan
would escort him to his doctors' appointments, the kid would always
come prepared with a long list of questions. And Alan would really
engage the doctors. Hughie wrote that it was so painful for him just
to listen to these conversations, that he practically had to project
himself outside of his body just to block it all out!

But I admired Alan for trying so hard. What a job for a 17-year-old!
I later realized why Alan asked so many questions -- he is simply a
very clever young man. And he's studying math, so I am assuming he is
a member of that rarefied group that can actually understand the
content of medical papers. You know, like the statistics.

In fact, Alan is just completing his first semester at Strathclyde
University (not College!), where he is studying "maths" (tr. "math")
and economic geography. He is hoping to one day become a teacher or an
agrarian statistician. And he has been "fast with his studies" and
scoring high on his exams -- in spite of everything that's been going
on. Am so proud of the kid, but why do I feel I am robbing Hughie of
something? He ought to be the one passing around the kid's report
card . .

But it's not as if Hugh did not appreciate Alan: he said over and over
that his youngest son was, and had always been, his favorite. Because
of his grit, his courage, his steadfastness to his principles. Alan
was the only one of his kids, Hugh said, who would stand up to him!
Hughie complained a lot about Alan's getting involved in fights,
coming home at night "needing patching up". But there was so much
pride in his voice! Said he had taught his son some tricks he'd
learned in the military, and that Alan could take on two or more men
if he needed to. I guess in supremely macho Glasgow, this is something
to crow about. Alan wrote, "You Yanks think we're savages . . . and we
are -- a bit." Hmm...didn't know I was being so obvious.

I recently received a picture of Alan happily perched on his trail
bike (will try to post on blog), and I must admit he is dreamy-
looking. A viking at six-foot-three (and still growing). Keeps himself
in shape swimming and mountain-climbing. Has dark curly hair and a
winning smile. Plus, in Hughie's words: "Alan's eyes are almost black,
what I call 'jackhammer eyes,' because they can see right through
almost anything to get at the truth."

Hugh wrote that, as a result of his illness, he had "rediscovered his
most gorgeous son". By that he meant more than the physical. I can
attest to that.

Alan wrote that after Hughie died he had gone to his Dad's lawyer's
office. There he "bubbled like a baby" when he read a letter his
Hughie had left for him. Noted that it was handwritten, that Hughie
had obviously taken a lot of care with it. Apparently Hughie wrote to
Alan that he had everything he needed to succeed in life -- but that
the boy should not waste him time grieving for him. To which Alan
replied, "What an ARSE -- of course I will grieve for my best Pal!" But
he understood what his Dad meant by not getting stuck in grief.

Alan also received from Hughie a modest sum of money as an
inheritance. He said he felt a bit let down because he thought there
was supposed to be a "zero" at the end of the number! But he was
grateful to his Pops anyway. In any case, Alan wrote, he left the
lawyer's office, wrote out a check for PC research (about 20% of the
total), kept a modest sum for himself, and put the rest of the money
in a high-interest-bearing account.

I thought the donation to PC very generous. Not that Hughie was cheap,
but he didn't have that much to pass on to his young son in the first
place. So I asked Alan: "Was the "X thousand pounds" you gave to PC
research the amount Dad specified in his will?" He replied, "No. Dad
said I could do whatever I wanted with the "lolly" (money), and I
reckoned I could spare it." I don't know what to say. Some of us here,
my own husband maybe, may end up benefiting from Alan's generosity.

I am saving the best for last, because to me there is no greater
virtue than compassion. Ted said to leave this out because the subject
is a bit sensitive. So of course I am going to include it. Let's just
say that after Hughie died, Alan was left with a cache of narcotics.
Seems like his "manly" Dad had not taken all of his morphine pills.
Alan asked for advice on how to find a a worthy beneficiary, someone
in the UK who was in need of pain medication. I advised Alan to
immediately turn the pills over to a particular responsible adult.
Which he did. I just want to emphasize that, in the UK, fortunately,
getting palliative care is not a problem. But 85% of cancer patients
worldwide get *no* pain medication at all.

Alan, like his Dad, is fond of quoting scripture  He once wrote me
that the Beatitudes "are 10 pages of Pop's best wisdom." So I looked
up the citation, and it was there that I found the appropriate words
to describe this episode:

"Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy."

Alan is a bit vestigial in the sense that he says he is the only one
of Hughie's kids who is a regular "kirkgoer" ("kirk" = church).  In
fact, Alan and his friend Jack are making a pilgrimage to the Holy
Land for Christmas. I don't normally do this, but I am going to ask
the boys to pray for me (and Ted). Because no harm can come from the
prayers of the righteous.

Alan appended the following to one of his letters, and it almost broke
me in two:

"I have loved my Pops on God's commandments."

I will say a big amen to that. And to Alan: Each day that you continue
to just BE who you ARE, you are bringing honor to your parents.

And finally:  Hughie wrote me once that he could not sing at all, but
turns out that was an abject lie.  Alan wrote this:

"Leah asked what a "Laldy" meant.  It is a Scots word that means
"Giving it your all," and when he [Hughie] sang from the Organ loft,
his deep Basso voice rumbled all through the Kirk!  It often
embarrassed me, we sat in the back pews, all nine of us -- and Pops
could be heard roaring it out!  He had a great voice and once sang
with a famous Russian in the Kelvingrove galleries in our City of
Glasgow."

I hope you are up there in the heavenly choir, dear Hughie, giving it
the Laldy, seeing to it that we will all be showered with blessings.

Your Friend,

Leah

prostatecancerblog.net