Because dads rock too…
And a few words about my dad…
I was raised by a man who was not my father, biologically anyway. He married my mum when I was about three and, while I was distant and shy in the early days-weeks-months, at some point he became dad.
One major turning point was when I was unwell with a headache, probably too stressed and confused with all the changes of moving house and moving away from my biological father. I remember snuggling up to my dad on the sofa and I felt safe.
My dad worked long hours and he wasn’t really a soft and cuddly person – he was a very honest and, sometimes, blunt man but he loved me as his.
As a child he took me and my mum to live in Africa for two years for the greatest adventure where he taught me to swim in the sea, where I got to experience a different culture and a different life with other travellers, locals as well as members of the Masai.
We grew closer as I grew older because he didn’t treat me like a kid. My favourite memories with him are walking our dogs across the fields, going into work with him during the holidays, going to the movies and laughing – we laughed lots.
He loved me and he loved my children and he was incredibly proud of us. I will forever feel lucky to have had him for my dad. It didn’t matter that we didn’t share the same blood.
My dad died three years ago. He had a massive heart attack and I was able to spend two days in hospital with him when he was in a coma, until his body couldn’t keep going any longer. I spoke to him a lot when he was in his coma – I said a lot to him that I couldn’t normally say because it would ‘too slushy’ but I am glad I said it and I hope he was able to hear it.
I will be forever grateful to him for the life he gave me, for loving me and for wanting the best for me. He influenced me in more ways than I think he knew and I miss him everyday.