CW: Death of a parent, grief.
I really wish people in my life would acknowledge my dad more. I sort of understand that they might not want to bring it up, thinking if they remind me of it they’ll make me feel bad. (Trust me, I am never not thinking about it.) But it also just feels like people have forgotten that I’m grieving, or that it even happened.
I’m trying to adjust to an entirely different world. I am not myself from 5 months ago, I am me without a dad now, in a world where he literally doesn’t exist anymore. I feel as though I’m learning to walk again, but I am trying to be as quiet as possible about it so I don’t make anyone uncomfortable. I just wish those close to me would ask me about him once in a while, so he feels real. So it all feels real.
Rob Delaney, who lost his 2-year-old to a brain tumour in 2018, said something along the lines of: you immediately feel plucked from the rest of the human race and made different – you’re still part of it all, but you feel separate and not understood. I don’t think he’d mind me saying that it’s the same when you lose a parent.
Grief isn’t finite. It’s not something I’m going to experience and ‘go through’ and come out the other end of. It’s a big, heavy, tangle of pitch black in my chest that I’m going to spend the rest of my life growing around. I’m not the same, I just hope that those I love still want to be around the person I am now.
A Eulogy
I want to share with you more about my dad, a.k.a the greatest man who ever walked on the earth. My dad was my best friend, and I am humbled by the challenge of describing the sheer brilliance of what he gave to the world. Which was so much, with such kindness.
I don’t know quite how he did it, but he made every person he met feel like the most important person in the world. No one who crossed paths with him could ever forget him. It might have been his iconic beard, or his fantastic smile and laugh, or the way he listened, or always knew exactly what to say. He left an impact on everyone – shown by all who came to celebrate him at his funeral, and all those too, who could not make it.
After his time in the army and the gulf war, dad met my mum and became the most incredible father to my brother and later, myself. He attended every football match and school play and always encouraged us in whatever we decided to try our hands at. He always pushed us to be proud of ourselves before seeking the validation or pride of others – even his.
After dealing with his own mental health struggles, he trained as a Mental Health First Aider and became the go-to guy at work and amongst friends for a drink and a chat about anything and everything. So many people have told my dad, and since, my family, about how he helped them. It’s something we are immensely proud of. He always had time for you, no matter who you were.
The day he died, I picked up his phone and saw a text from someone he worked with. In the message, the woman asked how he was doing, and she heard he was coming home from the hospital soon. She then explained that he was the first person to really believe in her at work and it gave her confidence and that she couldn’t have done it without his support. That’s the legacy my father leaves.
To Him
Right now I’m in my room looking at photos of you while I listen to the funeral playlist you made. We couldn’t play it during the service (the church doesn’t like swear words, would you believe?), but I made sure it all got played exactly as you wanted at the memorial.
It feels like it’s been minutes but also years.
What am I supposed to do, dad? What is the point of a life that you’re not in?
Who am I supposed to call for advice, to chat about new music to, to tell about my job, to get excited about Star Wars with, to drag to the theatre and museums? To go to the water park in Zante with? Imagine mum braving the black hole with me? Never gonna happen.
You were the best thing in this life. The greatest to ever do it. You are so loved, dad. The effect your passing has had on this world already is immeasurable. You touched so many lives with such love and tenderness. You are my greatest role model.
I know my emotions and my grief will change so much over the course of my life, but right now I’m angry. I’m resentful and hurt. I don’t want to be, I promise. I’m sad that Levi got the big stuff, and I won’t get that. He got to have you at his wedding, he got to introduce you to his daughter. He got to talk to you about being a parent.
You won’t be in attendance at my wedding, you won’t give a speech, you won’t see me in my dress, you won’t walk me down the aisle and give me away, we won’t have a father-daughter dance. You won’t get to meet my daughter or son, they won’t get to call you grandad and play with you in the garden. I’m hurt because, as well as you, all of that has been taken away from me. It all seems so pointless if you’re not there.
I wanted you to have a relationship with the man I love. If he’d known you before the cancer, you both would have had such good times. You would have been thick as thieves by now I’m sure of it. But at least you got to shake his hand just once. I couldn’t go on if you’d never met. Mum said you could rest because you knew Levi and I had found our people; she said you knew that he would take care of me and that your kids would be okay. I like that. I just wish you could have seen it for yourself.
As I write this, O-o-h Child by The Five Stairsteps has just come on. Thanks for including that, but I don’t know if this will ever get easier. I’m going to be thinking about you every minute for the rest of my life.
This letter has very little structure, I think I’m just word-vomiting at this point. You’ll get it.
Thank you for making my childhood and every day after the greatest it ever could have been. You taught me so much, and let me share so much of myself with you. You were a great listener and always tried to understand me. You knew what I needed even when I didn’t.
I got a new tattoo for you too. 6 days after you said goodbye, I used the handwriting from your journals to have ‘One Day Like This’ tattooed on my arm, right by my helicopter leaf. We have so many great memories of Elbow, and that song in particular. It also feels apt, as every adventure with you was a day that would see me right. Thank you for taking me on so many and showing me so much.
I was so lucky, dad. I was the luckiest kid in the whole world. You fought so hard for us right up until the end. I can’t wait to learn more about you through the people who loved you. Thank you for staying as long as you could, even though you might have been ready to go. Thank you for coming home.
❤️