Papa passed last week, and as Father's Day approaches, the quiet hum of his absence is almost deafening. He was never one for flowery words, always to the point, but as the saying goes, "A father doesn't tell you that he loves you. He shows you." And Papa, bless his heart, showed me in every conceivable way.
He retired a lifetime ago, and when 2020 put stopped his beloved pub visits, he found solace in the steady rhythm of news articles, adventurous food experiments in the kitchen, and the delightful oddities the internet had to offer. One story, in particular, became his obsession. It was about a man spotted with a Samurai umbrella so remarkably realistic that people kept mistaking it for a weapon, leading to more than a few calls to the police. Papa tracked every update like it was a thrilling mystery novel unfolding in real-time.
"He's here, Cami. At that station, Cami. He's got a second umbrella, Cami. It's on eBay, Cami. He's a writer, Cami."
I never quite grasped the fascination, but I'd chuckle and listen, simply happy to see him so engaged.
Then, as life often does, my world became a whirlwind. By late 2023, my situation with my ex was escalating. "Leave," Papa urged. "Anywhere." And when early 2024 arrived, every document, every plan, every ounce of support he could muster, he gave. Even when my ex caused him direct grief, Papa never once considered himself. His only concern was my safety. Not many survivors of domestic violence have someone like that in their corner. I know this, and I will be eternally grateful.
On May 28, 2024, a message landed in my inbox: "I'd like to write for the magazine." I hesitated. The sender was a chef, a lover of the pub – everything I was trying to avoid. This was a large community, and the week had already been pure chaos. Just one person out of 1.2 million was offering to help. Why him? Why now? I replied cautiously, explaining our magazine's reach was only two million or so, mostly outside the group. He replied simply, "I've written for a much larger audience." Something clicked. He was THE umbrella guy.
When I told Papa, he was absolutely thrilled. Mike Devlin and I took our time getting to know each other; I was far from ready for another person in my life. When drama swirled around the magazine, some questioned if any of this was a good idea. "If he fought that hard for an umbrella," Papa declared, "he'll fight for you." And so it was. Mike arrived where I am now. The magazine grew. Papa would often say, "You're safe now, I can breathe easy."
Then came April 30, 2025. Papa had a fall. He blamed the pavement. I saw the swelling, the stitches, and the deep concern etched on his face, no matter how much he insisted, "It's nothing, Cami." A week later, my brother found him on the bedroom floor. He said it was chest pains, but test after test showed nothing but high blood pressure. Then, on Wednesday morning, another call. Papa couldn't swallow. Hours later, doctors confirmed he'd had a stroke at some point; his brain stem had scarring. He slipped into unconsciousness.
We'd discussed this possibility when I left, the idea of me not being there at the end. But no amount of talk truly prepares you for the profound ache of living it. My mind keeps replaying old memories like scattered polaroids – laughter, pub stories, movie nights, all those tiny threads of love. Papa passed on 3 June. Putting today's issue together was especially hard because he was always one of the first readers since it started. The first critic. The first, that was a good piece.
To say I miss him is an understatement. I don't know what the next few days will hold. But I know this: Papa gave without pause. He carried the weight of my world so I could start anew, so I could breathe again. He gave me safety, freedom, and a future. And that little slice of serendipity in the form of a man with an umbrella.
To love. Light. And memories that make us smile.
___________________________
Thank you for being part of the DWC Magazine community!
Everything you see here in our online magazine comes straight from the heart of our amazing community — either shared from members of our Facebook group or contributed by our incredible readers. If you would like to contribute or promote your product or servive, more info is available HERE.
Curious about the minds and faces behind DWC Magazine or how it all began? Head over to our ABOUT US page.
Want to get in touch or suggest a content update?
Reach out anytime at camille [at] dullwomenscluboriginal [dot] com. Just a heads-up: we don’t remove content unless there’s a legal reason to do so.
Quick Content Note:
Some of our stories explore sensitive subjects like domestic violence, suicide, and other emotionally heavy topics. Please read with care and take breaks if you need to.
Also, from time to time, you’ll come across posts with sponsor links or community fundraisers. We encourage you to explore and support — just be sure to do your own research before diving in.
_(24).jpg)
