I spent years searching for him and wasn't disappointed 
when I finally did.It was like finding a piece of my own 
life's jigsaw that made sense of the whole messy picture. 
Charismatic and funny he took away a lot of the 
heartache I had carried around through not knowing what 
I desperately needed to know;  strangely his need to tell 
me was as strong as my need to listen to his every word. 

Before I met him he was my father's brother - the father 
who for fifty years I had mentally castigated and crucified 
for the disgraceful way he had treated his family. When I 
left - my father became Dad, a man who I could look up to 
and be proud to be called his son: and my Dad's brother 
became my uncle. My only uncle. Uncle Trevor. Someone who 
to me was almost like an older twin brother.

I was blessed to have spent time with my Uncle Trevor and 
loved our similarities - the cheekiness of his facial 
expressions, his sense of humour, his broad accent. When I 
walked into his home he almost collapsed thinking I was my 
Dad screaming 'Bloody hell it's Charlie!'. When he realised 
I wasn't we both fell about. 

I will be at his service on Friday in Geordieland, tucked 
quietly away somewhere among the gathered. It will be a 
flying visit for me, such is life, not just to pay my 
respects. But also to say thank you (with love x).