"Mum and dad separated when I was a 3 month-old baby, but I
always spent every other week-end with dad. I loved staying with
him even though the flat was always messy and he spent most of the
week-end down the pub. But I had my mates upstairs, two brothers,
who became my best friends.
One week-end dad complained of terrible pains in his chest and
my friends’ mother called the ambulance – dad nearly died in
hospital and I was with him. I wasn’t allowed to tell mum about it
because dad was worried that I wouldn’t be able to see him again.
When mum picked me up from hospital, Dad told her that he had had
an ulcer which had burst.
Dad died not long after that, funnily enough on Father’s Day. He
died of alcoholism – I was eight. I find it difficult to talk about
him, even to this day, because mum and dad were divorced and she
was still angry with him. I also felt very guilty that I wasn’t
with him as I am sure that I could have saved him. I get very down
about that.
When my school friends found out that he had died, they didn’t
know what to say to me and somehow I always felt different to the
others. Even if their parents were separated or divorced, they
still had two parents and I only had one.
I have two framed pictures of my dad in my bedroom, but I have
forgotten his face and this makes me feel very guilty. Sometimes I
dream of him, but he will always be the 46 year old man that I
loved and knew – he will never grow old.
Recently dad’s brother died and I met up with all the
grand-parents, aunts, uncles, nieces and nephews from his side of
the family. It was wonderful to speak about him openly and remember
him."