I can’t quite believe the end of 2013 is upon us already. So much has happened to us this year, “Some for ever, not for better,” as John Lennon would say. When I look back 12 months ago, I can remember going out for a beer on New Year’s Day with my father-in-law, Charlie. We were talking about the usual stuff; Arsenal being rubbish, the cost of a pint, his adventures at sea. Meanwhile Liam was making us laugh by collecting all the beer coasters up from around the pub. Good, simple fun. Charlie’s voice was on the wane at that stage. He sounded like Tony Montana from Scarface after a particularly hard session. It wasn’t sore, just sounded that way. He had been to hospital that week for a CT scan, trying to find out what was wrong with him. Little did we know then, it was the early stages of Motor Neurone Disease. I walked the dog last night. Every night I walk him, I always look skywards and say good night to Charl. Last night was quite profound. It dawned on me that the whole of Charlie’s illness and, sadly, his passing, were contained within the year 2013. It’s quite staggering that, aside from a croaky voice, Charlie seemed fine this time last year. In the midst of this summer, when Charlie was a prisoner in his own body, stuck in a bed in his own front room, unable to breathe without an oxygen mask, unable to scratch an inch, unable to roll from side to side, unable to stand unaided, you felt that death would be a blessed relief. Still, as we sit two months on to the day since his funeral, I can’t quite believe he’s gone. A year from hell it has been, and yet it’s hard, with two wonderful children developing and growing in front of us, to call this year, hellish. Had it not been for MND striking, this year would have been amazing. Liam can now read a book more or less on his own. Ella has made lots of friends at pre-school, and is more than ready to embrace primary school. Maria has a job. I’ve been fortunate enough to interview some top-class cricketers in my role as a cricket correspondent for Deep Extra Cover. Life goes on, it must, it’s impossible for it not to, but it doesn’t make it any easier to continue without the great man beside us. I listened to Urban Hymns by Verve in the car today. I haven’t been able to listen to it since Charlie passed. I used to listen to the song, ‘The drugs don’t work’ on the way to visit Charlie in hospital, and the words are just spine-tingling. “If heaven calls, I’m coming too…you leave my life, I’m better off dead.” Richard Ashcroft wrote it not about drugs, as was incorrectly reported at the time, but about his dad, who died of cancer a short while before the album was written. The great thing about the song is that, although incredibly sad, it also has an uplifting ending. “I know I’ll see your face again, never coming down now, never coming down no more, no more.” It’s like the author is saying, I’ve been so low, and I refuse to be beaten by this tragedy. I think it’s inspiring. Fair play to Ashcroft for not only writing that song, but also performing it time and time again. Tomorrow starts a new year. We’ll still think about Charlie all the time of course, and all the laughs he used to bring. The catchphrases he used to utter: “Naughty little man,” “Little woman,” “Crazy Nanu.” The stories of him working at sea and sampling the local delicacies at every port (booze!), talking about Manchester United (and slagging off Arsenal!), most importantly his love for the children – whom he loved so deeply and so utterly – he always spoke about them. Always. When he could no longer speak, near the end, Charlie signalled to me that he would miss the children growing up. This cruel illness robbed Charlie of probably the greatest joy he ever experienced in life; having a daughter, a son-in-law and two happy, healthy grandchildren, close to his side to grow old with. MND wouldn’t allow Charlie that simple pleasure, but as I promised to him then, I will always look after the children, and his daughter Maria, until the day I die. For now, a new year, and whilst we depart a sad one, during which we’ve lost our dear Charlie, we must also remember the good times, because there were plenty still, and take them forward into 2014. Most importantly, we must make sure 2014 is the best year yet – the children have their lives ahead of them, but so do Maria and I, and live it we must. All the best for 2014 everyone, may it be one full of love and laughter, health and happiness. Tom