A man of simple pleasures. A creature of habit. Stubborn, resilient, loyal, giving, fair. Comfortable in one’s own skin. A man who deeply loved his wife for almost six decades and was never the same after her passing. A man who loved his family. A good father. My dear dad. Kenny.

It was hard to get the call from my brother yesterday that my dad had passed away. I knew the call might come, but I hoped for another visit. So many of us know that feeling – the yearning for one more visit, one more opportunity to be present with a cherished loved one. It wasn’t easy to get the call so far from home in Thailand, but I will always be thankful for the generous and warm care of my colleagues who stood alongside me yesterday. Thanks, Suse. Thanks, team. I will always remember your claps, cheers and tears as I shared a picture and story of Kenny at the conference I was leading.

I will deeply miss my dad. He has been a constant in my life.

Although he always struggled to verbally express his emotions, I always knew he was in my corner – in all seasons of life. He was dependable. He was beautifully predictable – from his overcooking of any meat to the dialled-up television volume because of his refusal to wear his hearing aids. From the re-telling of a favourite story to his consistent daily habits and rituals. Most of all, the predictability of his loving and loyal presence in my life. I will so miss that.

My dad never spoke much about his feelings. I remember some years back doing a 10-hour road trip with him. On the drive, as we chatted away, I mentally planned that on our arrival I was going to sit with him and tell him how much I loved him and how thankful I was that he was my dad. We got there. I shared from my heart. He was silent for a moment. He nodded, touched me on the shoulder and then said: “Should we go and get some dinner.” It wasn’t how I had scripted it, but we went to his favourite dining establishment on the Gold Coast with its simple, consistent menu. I looked across the table and I saw how happy he was to be sharing with this experience with me. It wasn’t flash – it was family. And without words, I knew I was in loving company. I appreciated he had his imperfections, but wow, so did I. I was blessed to have him as my dad – safe, secure, stable, solid.

I love a diversity of food. I like it spicy. I will try just about anything. That’s not my dad. I love travel, far and wide. My mum and dad went to the same holiday destination for more than 50 summers and my dad had one overseas trip in his life. I love change. My dad didn’t. I could say, I am not like my dad in many ways.

But then I remember, he didn’t have a handyman bone in his body – and how I certainly walk in those footsteps. I think about growing up in a household where he had two newspapers delivered each day and how much this rubbed off on me and my desire to be a journo and write. I am thankful.

I think about my dad pouring 50 years of his life into rugby league in Newcastle as a volunteer administrator and I deeply appreciate how he impressed upon me a heart to serve others. I see the way he lived with contentment in the ordinary – and I want to keep growing in this, not being seduced by a world that calls us after more and more of the extraordinary.

I see the way he loved being with his family and I share in this delight. I see the way he loved my mum, and I want to be a better husband. I see his resilience and I want to keep growing in that.

My dad had a simple faith. It wasn’t deeply, personally expressed. And I know he appreciated the vocational path I chose. He was very supportive. The last time I was with him, I held his hand and read the one psalm I know he knew well. “The Lord is my shepherd” – Psalm 23.

I left the hospital that night and hoped for another Newy visit to see my dad, but I knew it would be unlikely. Most of all, I wanted him to be free of pain and be at peace. And I knew how much my dad stubbornly resisted the idea of moving into residential aged care. “I will hate the food, and they won’t have all the sports I watch on Foxtel.”

You got that wish dad. You stayed at home for four years after mum died and you battled on bravely! I will miss you greatly, but I am glad you can rest. And thank you to my brother Brett Pilgrim my wife Megan Anderson and my kids for all you have done for dad in his struggles over recent years.

When I was a little kid, I went through a stage when I got very frightened at night, and I would wet the bed. Whenever this happened, I would go into my parents’ bedroom and my dad would get up. He didn’t complain. He would change me and my bed linen and stay with me as I went back to sleep. I remember this. My dad never mentioned it in later years. He never boasted about his parenting. He knew he wasn’t perfect. He made mistakes. I make many as a parent.

As I think back now on those nights, many, many years back I am struck again by his presence. He kept turning up. He was there for me. He showed me that genuine love turns up, despite the circumstances. It is available. It is actionable. It is loyal. It makes sacrifices. It goes the distance.

I have so much to be thankful for. Thanks, dad, for going the distance with me! Thanks for being a good father. I love you deeply and will miss your cherished constancy in my world.