Death dates

What's in a date? In our first guest post, Ed Walker reflects on five years since the loss of his dad.

Ed with his dad Peter

We all have those dd.mm.yy etched in our minds.

Some are happy, some are sad. From wedding anniversaries, to birthdays, to FA Cup final wins, the date something happened is a chance to cast your mind back.

For me, the 1 September will forever be held in my mind and I always have a strange mix of emotions in the lead up to it.

It was the day we lost my father. It's become a date in the diary/calendar/family planner to note, in the same way birthdays, wedding anniversaries and other days are. And I've found it interesting how it's affected me as the date draws closer.

The other year I was away for it, away from my family, my children, and it meant a long drive back home to reflect on it – and it didn't move far from my mind. It doesn't take much for the mind to wander back to what my Dad was going through, and then he was at peace that very sunny (I always remember just how bright the sunshine was) morning.

And my sister's scream, I'll never ever forget that sound, when my Dad did slip away.

It's a poignant date as the 1 September is when lots of things change and the shadows start to lengthen with the signal of Autumn on the way. It's back to school month, it's the start of the run up to Christmas for many in their working lives, Parliament returns, people start and return to university. Life goes 'back to normal' in many ways.

But I've found in the week leading up to 1 September, I can have a little less zip. I said to a friend last year as the day approached how, “I'm not feeling too positive this week” – I guess code for being a bit grumpy – this was in response to his unusual 'Tigerness' and bounce that week. I don't usually say things like that out loud, so it was a big step for me to vocalise that – I tend to try to stay 'steady state'. All part of being a father myself, I think.

I've written about my Dad before, on what would have been his 70th birthday, and I think finding ways to remember and mark the key moments – which now sadly includes the day he died – are all part of the process of grief. You have to embrace them, rather than let them loom up on you.

This year will be five years. I honestly can't believe it has been five years. So much has happened. He has missed so much. But in a way I know he's still there, whenever my son smiles, whenever I've just had a tricky conversation, whenever my daughter is running off ahead, whenever I run into bowl at cricket. He'll always be there. Encouraging, cheering on, providing guidance.

Because the people who loved you more than any others are always there. And they always will be.

“He loved togetherness.”

To mark five years, we're going to remember my father by getting together. The hospice who helped care for him, at home, is encouraging a 'Sip and Support' event.

We'll gather, friends, family, colleagues, and my Dad would have absolutely loved it. He loved a party. He loved togetherness. If he were watching Oasis he'd be the one in the middle of a big line of people with his arms around everyone belting out Live Forever.

And he always will, in my heart and in my mind.