28/02/2026
Today marks 14 years since my dad passed away.
I was pregnant with my twins when he died, and somehow that still feels impossible to say out loud... that so much life has happened since, and yet some memories remain exactly the same.
My dad was a little over 20 years older than my mum, so growing up he often felt more like a granddad than a dad. Gentlemanly, old-school, shaped by a very different world. He was 14 during the Second World War, carried stories and experiences I only half understood, and like many men of his generation, he didn’t always speak openly about the harder parts of life.
He developed Alzheimer’s when he was in his early 60s. Looking back now, I realise I was still young, too young to have the awareness to ask the questions I wish I had asked. Too young to understand that one day I would want to know not just my father, but the man he was before me.
That is probably one of my few real regrets, not taking the time to truly get to know him while I still could. Because from what I do remember, and from the pieces of him that stay with me, he was an extraordinary man. Kind. Steady. Strong in quiet ways I didn’t fully recognise back then.
And now, whenever I think of him, I find myself wishing for just one more conversation, one more chance to tell him how much I understand and appreciate him now.
So today it feels like perhaps if I could offer a gentle reminder it would be this...
If your parents are still here, ask the questions, listen to the stories, sit a little longer at the table.
One day you realise you weren’t just being raised by your parents you were sharing time with a whole lifetime you may never fully know again.
Miss you always, Daddyo 🤍❤️
