Over the past couple of weeks I have been recognising an ever increasing rise in the desire to speak to my father, this something I find myself sadly starved of due to his early departure from this world earlier this year. After a three year battle with a rare leukaemia, one to which I feel really took its toll in the end, he passed in hospital with his family by his side.
There was a saying he would recite to myself and my siblings at various points of our lives - In fact, this becoming a little bit of a family catchphrase over the years, however unknown to us at the time of curation, how poignant those words would become.
Those who may not be familiar with the end of life process when one of these horrific disease finally gets its way, its fairly peaceful, and in our case thankfully we almost had a little control over these final moments. When this time approached, with a humour I know he would appreciate, in a moment of strange connectedness we decide to quote this phrase out loud. And, with a strange humour that only he will ever understand he took his last breath as we completed our monologs, a timely precision that he was known for - this I feel recognisable in the sentiment of the forementioned quote itself (detailed below)
“To be early is to be on time, to be on time is to be late, and to be late is simply unacceptable”
Mike Wake (1959 - 2025)
For whom who are not aware of what its like when a loved one gets diagnosed with a condition like this, it can be tough. At first there is the uncertainty, countless appointments and investigation - this in my fathers case span a period of 8 - 12 months, well, until we received a definitive diagnosis and started with directive treatment. Then comes the diagnosis, now I guess it doesn’t matter how this information is delivered, and I can only speak from my own experience - however for me it hit like a train.
Its funny when I think about it, we tend to minimise when we are trying to deliver something difficult to someone we love, a natural defence mechanism that we almost can not avoid. Now, agreeably not “funny” in itself, however when you consider this is the same distortion we apply as the recipient of the news, yet with a complete difference of effect. One distortion introduced by the mind of my father in this moment to reassure us not to worry, the other, my mind - well, worrying.
One thing I learnt in this moment was hope sadly played not part in anything at this time, that’s not to say I had given up on my father in this moment, more that it really didn’t help. You see as the disease took hold, we would be offered these little glimpses of “hope”, as treatments tore shreds out of my father, his strength would return only for him to hypothetically fall of a cliff. In these moments hope simply felt like a wasted emotion, and I was wise enough to understand that this was not something that could be fixed and would sadly take him from us.
It became apparent in the latter months that things were really taking a toll on him, physically and mentally so as I live local I made it my aim to drop by most nights for a “fancy” coffee and a catch up. His sickness would often present more so in the mornings so he tended to be a little better in the evening, I would walk round after work most nights, pour a cup of coffee and we would put the world to rights.
Like myself, my father had a keen interest in global affairs, so as you can imagine these past couple of years have given us plenty to go at. It would always be a balanced discussion, often leading to a little debate, then inevitably me getting schooled due to some minor nuance angle I had been ignorant to. Always in good faith and educational, often leaving me asking more questions than I started with, but we never discussed his sickness. He would sit and let me rant about something that had got me fired up in the news, often unaware of my angle, and more often than not confused at my passion - yet he would listen, and I mean really listen.
Remembering a concept from collage, one to which you aim to attend to your unresolved feelings by speaking to yourself in a letter, a common practice in the psychotherapy realms of transactional analysis. The aim, sit and write a letter to either past you, or future you, in the hope that through the act of writing coupled with the visualisation and reflection of the words, the author can make the steps to heal.
I figured that this may be applicable to these recent recognisable feelings — it becoming apparent that those evening chats had become as important to myself, as they had for my father.
My initial aim was to simply start with an open word document and write, I hoped that I would just start banging out the words and the letter would write itself — as I have already proven hope is not the most productive things to cling on to.
I blankly stared at the computer for almost an hour before the first word hit the screen. It was emotional as I tried to structure what I thought I should be writing, something hard to fight this back at first. I didn’t want my letter to be sad, me just pleading my emotions out, it felt strange, vulnerable in fact — as its not something you ever prepare for. Eventually I decided the best thing to do was to accept it some what, sit in the grief.
My letter needed to reflect this, what’s the point in putting yourself in the position that an exercise like this does, if your simply going to hide from the emotion you are trying to address… It is sad, and no amount of editorial handywork will alter that.
Upon completing my letter, a task that took me late in to the night I closed the computer and took myself off to bed. I slept like a log! If I am completely honest I felt lighter, it was if I had got something of my chest that had been pressing down like a tone weight.
Don’t get me wrong, that desire to speak to my dad has not gone anywhere, it hasn’t eased, as I’m sure it never will — but I do feel better, more connected to him than I have in recent weeks.
I felt like I had addressed my grief a little, something that doesn’t seem to come easy to me right now and at the time of writing this now realise how powerful my evening of reflection had been, although sad this was the fist time I had sat and devoted my full attention to remembering my father since his passing.
After looking over the web in the following days its apparent that this is a well practiced tool implemented by some grief based practices, this lead me to a wonderful quote by Morrie Schwartz, American author and sociology professor at Brandeis University.
“Death ends a life, not a relationship. All the love you created is still there. All the memories are still there. You live on- in the hearts of everyone you have touched and nurtured while you were here.”
The important word here being relationship, with death being a relationship that we in most parts do not chose to end, these can often be the hardest endings to accept. It is believed that writing a letter to the person we have lost holds significant impact. Often, as in my case it can feel like we were left with things unsaid, especially if the death is early or unexpected.
Similarly we can be left feeling that there is a sense of things we wish we could of said, but for whatever reason feel like we couldn’t. Be it an apology, admission of guilt, forgiveness or simply an “I love you” — a letter offers an opportunity to hold that conversation, without fear of it being read unless you choose so. You can use it to tell them how you feel, that you miss them, or just simply recognise them, helping to maintain that feeling of connection to them. The letter is yours, its for you to write whatever you want, and however you want.
Some choose to end the letter with a heart felt good bye, offering closure, others leave it open often with view of a follow up. I personally decided to leave mine open, it just didn’t feel right to end it there, I’m not necessarily looking for closure but more a way to process my feelings in a more constructive (and less painful) manor. You also get to chose what you do with the letter, you can keep it to read when you feel safe to do so, you can share it with others like I have done, or simply seal it up be done with the process.
A prior warning for anybody who considers trying this practice, I advise taking the time to look into it properly before attempting writing the letter, it may also help to ensure that you have the right support network in place — even telling someone what your about to attempt if you feel safe to do so.
Pick a quite place to think and plan what your going to write, be aware that this process may be triggering and evoke a strong emotional response so is something that needs to be approached in a sensitive manor. Take your time, remember this is for you and if it takes more than one attempt to write then so be it. Write as much or as little as you feel called to. If you feel drawn to writing to them but find it daunting, keep it to a few simple words: Hello. I miss you. I love you.
Personally, I found this one difficult and I do advise anybody who feels that they are struggling to reach out and speak to someone, there are services available for anybody that find themselves struggling — and as always please speak to a therapist, or medical professional if you find yourself effected and struggling to cope. (please see links below)
I extend my hand to anybody effected by this, please do not hesitate to reach out and I will get back to you, and for anybody looking on where start here is my letter to my father.
Hey Dad,
It feels like a lifetime since we last spoke and God how I would trade anything right now to be having this conversation with you in person. The one thing that I always anchor to when I feel this way, is that now you are at peace, free from pain, looking over us free to be that version of yourself that was cruelly taken to early. Songs have taken on a different meaning as of late of which some bring smiles, fond memories of long drives as we visited the various campsites, other moments where I simply can not fight back the tears – these I tend to listen to alone.
You see I always thought I understood grief, but I don’t think I do, It’s a funny old thing. I do find it interesting that we all share in it, yet it feels so isolating and lonely to me, something all the relevant sources state “ease with time”. The one thing they can not tell me is how much time that is, I know you would answer this question for me if you could, something that would include just enough introspection that it would question me to think about it for myself, as would be the usual suit.
Mum is doing okay; she’s been really strong in all this if I’m honest and her eternal love for you has never been of question. I know her birthday was a little tough this year, forty plus years of you stood by her side was noticed for sure. I'm aware that I’m trying to keep this positive, but I does make me sad when I think about it, and it’s important that I address that.
Hannah got her a pandora thingy that referred to something you write in mums card every year, she cried of course. I never knew that was a thing, but I could see how much it meant to her, both in fact. She really did love you, you know, as I know you did her, I admire that.
She has gone a little rouge though and I’m sorry to be the one telling you this… she’s… bought a rug for the front room! I know, it looks alright though if I’m being honest. In fact, she likes it that much she bought a second one. So now she has two identical rugs in the front room, oh and then there is the new curtains – I obviously went as chaperone to Dunelm and was employed to fit them. On that note I finally returned some tools, but we will say no more as your DeWalt drill has finally thrown its chuck, so you win some you lose some.
There was quite a lot to do upon your departure but Hannah stepped-up dad honestly, I don’t know where she pulled it from. She’s been a real rock for Mum actually; you would have been so proud of her. I wouldn’t have had a clue where to start. I’ve been spending a little bit more time with her and the kids recently which has been nice, its really helped as a little bit of a healing process I guess, for me at least.
The kids are growing up so fast it’s unbelievable, Ollie is already taller than Tom would you believe, and Isla doesn’t cry when she sees me anymore. They all miss you though, Isla blows kisses to you every night and I take comfort in picturing you catching them as you check in.
Bens back at rehearsals finally, now as you know I am not exactly the best person to tell you what its actually for, however, I glad he is back on those boards regardless of the production. Mr fancy pants have been talking in London again too, I never tell him this, but I don’t half brag that my brothers an artist you know. In fact, I often reference his announcement to knowing the only girl on the train whilst we attended the folk music festival in Kendal, that being “Laura, yeh. I know her…” for him to explain he was talking about the train announcement. “Laura, she’s the voice of west Cambrian railways” as we all looked round to a train carriage of old men, tweed jackets, and spaniels. So, Ella left school and went to prom… like what happened there. Bradly is still ten foot tall and set to break hearts! The rest of his clan doing well and I’m hoping to catch up with them all very soon.
I guess I should address the funeral, it went well. Well as well as it could have ever gone, not that that actually feels like a comfortable thing to say right now. We placed your scarf on top of the coffin as you would have wanted, and the turn out was impressive. The team that organised it all for us were fantastic, you would have enjoyed conversing with them as I feel they shared your wit. We took it back to mere brow club, so it was a classy enough. And as Mum and Hannah somehow talked Brandreth Barn into doing the catering, the food was up to your liking. The Wakies turned up in force, given the circumstances it was nice to see them all. It made me feel like a piece of you was right there with us, and there was obviously an abundance of story’s, followed by the familiar “ahway” that resonates so fondly from the northeast side of the family. Mums side were all present in support too, with many friends and family, including the odd, pleasant surprise like your former pupil Mark.
Uncle Steve and partners even had one of their horses in some prestigious races, in fact it actually put a course record in over in France and took a group one race! But “Wakie” luck struck, and the result was overthrown, double wakie luck, I backed it in store and not online, so I didn’t even get first past the post. You taught me well and the maths were right, so I backed it each-way, but my winnings were missing a zero on the end, it even got a fount page write up in the paper.
You made the paper that week too, but for very different reasons. It turns out when they put your obituary notice up on the local sights, you kind of went viral. I never realised how many people you actually taught to drive, but when they started to receive hundreds of comments a reporter picked it up and reached out to mum and Hannah for an interview.
So, I guess that leaves me, well I miss you dad! I really miss you and I am struggling a little bit with that at the moment. I got mid-distinction and above in my last four pieces of Uni work, something I simply never would have expected. I actually tried to call you when I got the first one, that was the first time that had happened, the realisation that you were not there to receive the call smacked me in the face a little bit if I’m honest. We all know that school was not my favourite experience but you always taught me to asses and challenge the things that I lacked belief in, as regardless of ability in the moment there is always something to learn – its amazing how much this has taken over my identity in recent months.
My lot are all doing okay, Tillie is now riding a bike, Maisie pre-teen “ughhh” “yehh” “whhhhhaaaaaaaaaaat”, and Charlie well… he’s still an anteater. I still pop up to see you most nights, as you are inevitable watching over mum on the dresser (until I arrange this cycle to Sunderland), but unfortunately I now have to discuss love island, as Mum now gets to watch it in peace. I don’t have anybody to have my daily discussions about how crazy the world has got now, a position that I’m not looking to fill right now even though I miss it more than you could even have known.
Life feels full of uncertainty now, and I’m struggling to navigate it at times, I fear I’m not getting things right all the time and I really wish I could talk it through with you. Even if you didn’t have the answer, you would always make sure I felt better about my question somehow. I’m writing and finally publishing. People are actually reading it to which is a nice positive feedback loop. My posts are not perfect, but I am putting the work in, and its showing. You always taught me that it was the effort that was to be recognised, as for the ability… well we will see!
People keep on telling me I remind them of you, in fact Helan the ear lady came round last week to remove some stubborn wax and opened with “ohh you have your dads’ ears”. Its such a strange thing to hear and although I know it’s a nice sentiment, it’s not always the easiest thing to hear. I know that only because I miss you, and they mean well I guess but you were and always will be my idol, so I struggle to reference myself in the same lens, I guess. Secretly deep down I hope that recognition is something wear with honour. You see I never told you this but all through out my life, when asked who I idolised, who was my hero, I would respond proudly with “my dad”. From childhood to present day my answer has never changed, its never deviated.
Our relationship hasn’t always been the easiest but, you have always been the figure I have looked up to. Sadly that experience sits in memory now but if there’s something there that others recognise then I hope its something I share with my own, I’m already learning how to deliver “it takes as much energy to switch them of, as it does to switch them on” and “don’t slam the door” with the right amount of grumble. But honestly, if I can share some of those well tested morals and values that you instilled in us growing up Il know I’ve done my job.
Dad, I love you, and I miss you.
Useful Links
www.samaritans.org
https://www.nhs.uk/mental-health/feelings-symptoms-behaviours/feelings-and-symptoms/grief-bereavement-loss/
https://www.mind.org.uk/information-support/guides-to-support-and-services/bereavement/support-and-self-care/
https://www.cruse.org.uk/
Reference list
Collins, J. (2025). The Healing Power of Writing a Letter to a Loved One Who Has Passed Away • Workplace Bereavement. [online] Workplace Bereavement. Available at: https://workplacebereavement.co.uk/2025/02/25/the-healing-power-of-writing-a-letter-to-a-loved-one-who-has-passed-away/.
Connor, S.R. (2009). Hospice and Palliative Care. Taylor & Francis.
J William Worden (2009). Grief Counselling and Grief Therapy : a Handbook for the Mental Health Practitioner. 4th ed. New York, Ny: Springer Pub. Co.
Mammadyarov, A. (2023). Maintaining Connection in Grief: The Power of Letter Writing. [online] Psychotherapy Practice - Intuitive Healing | NYC. Available at: https://www.intuitivehealingnyc.com/blog/2023/3/20/maintaining-connection-in-grief-the-power-of-letter-writing.
Thompson, K. (2011). Therapeutic journal writing. London: Jessica Kingsley Publishers.