My husband died at age 33 just like Tom Parker – I ache at the unfairness that my daughters lost their dad
“WHAT shall we do for Father’s Day?” my daughters, Brooke, 11, and Texas, nine, asked the other day.
My heart sank a little and I frantically checked my calendar to work out how many days I had left to come up with a way to make the day “special”.
Special for them that is — not for their dad — as my amazing husband Ross passed away five years ago.
And even though I have come to learn how to mentally prepare for this time of year, it is still as difficult now as it was the first time.
For most mums, Father’s Day involves buying a card, or a set of golf clubs or a mug, and maybe making breakfast in bed. But our situation is different and this is one day when we feel the loss of Ross even more than usual.
In 2014 Ross was diagnosed with a grade 4 PNET brain tumour. We had been together about six years when he was diagnosed and Brooke and Texas were just one and three.
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Ross had brain surgeries, chemotherapy, radiotherapy and lots of natural therapies too, but in 2017 the cancer had the final, devastating say.
So three and a half years after diagnosis, he died of that brain tumour.
Ross’s death was utterly unfathomable. He was a force of a man whose energy and spirit were missed instantly. I suddenly had to take on the role of both mum and dad, a role I didn’t ask for and had to learn as I went.
The pain of my own grief, coupled with that of my daughters, was suffocating in the beginning and I actively encouraged open conversation around our feelings, which was incredibly hard.
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Having to relive each moment of Ross’s death for my daughters — as they asked endless questions, like, “How did you know he had died?”, “What did he look like?”, “Why couldn’t the doctors just fix him?” or even “Did we give him cancer?” — took an emotional toll.
Grief comes in waves but initially it engulfs you.
Ross loved being a dad. When I found out I was pregnant with Brooke at 26, Ross smiled and said, “Good age”. No worries, no fears, just excitement. He wanted girls and was thrilled to have two when just two years later Texas arrived.
He was really great at it, too. He was a hands-on, get- involved sort of dad. He would teach them about money as we played Monopoly, build them a sand pit and create a pirate treasure hunt in the garden for a whole day of pirating fun.
As every Father’s Day looms I ache at the unfairness of their loss, and mine.
A dad no child could help but miss deeply — even though they lost him when they were still at such a young age. And as every Father’s Day looms I ache at the unfairness of their loss, and mine.
We are not alone. It’s not long since Tom Parker, of The Wanted, lost his life to a brain tumour, leaving behind his wife Kelsey and two children. He was just 33 — a year older than Ross.
And I know there are thousands of families just like ours that have to navigate the Father’s Day cards in shops, the barrage of Father’s Day emails from retailers, and other children talking about what they’re doing with their dads to celebrate.
As the mum of bereaved kids I feel the pressure to protect them and to make the day “special”. We talk about their dad every day but make extra effort on Father’s Day.
I always ask them what they might like to do in the lead up to the day and stay open to them one day saying “nothing”.
I appreciate that their loss is different to mine and I don’t want them to be forced to do anything that doesn’t align with what they need or how they feel.
'A team'
In previous years we have been out for afternoon tea and stayed in an Airbnb, always trying to “mark” the day in some way.
During lockdown life we did a “Disney and Dad” day where we pretended to be in Disneyland — complete with Minnie Mouse, Belle from Beauty And The Beast, and Elsa from Frozen costumes, and a fake rollercoaster ride. We finished up with a quiz about their dad and Disney (very 2020).
We haven’t made a decision about this Father’s Day yet but I try to let them lead and I always aim to allow them space to talk about how they’re feeling. I wouldn’t say it gets easier, you just have more acceptance of the reality you are facing.
As their mum it hurts me to see their pain and to watch other great dads playing with their children, knowing that Ross would have loved who they have become. Me and my daughters are a team and our way of working through this date is by staying close.
My advice to others would be to talk and to listen. What you do might be different to what I do, but so what? This is about you and your family, not anyone else’s. Maybe one year we will have a rave for Ross, or eat bourbon biscuits and watch The Truman Show — his favourite biscuits and film — or perhaps as the girls age they will want to work through it in their own way without me.
I let go of judgment on it and just aim to be ready for what they need.
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If you’re missing your dad this Father’s Day or you’re the mum by the side of children missing their dad, I am squeezing you so tight — ride the wave of the day and find some moments of joy between it all.
- Holly Matthews’ book The Happy Me Project: A No-nonsense Guide To Self-development is out now (Bloomsbury Green Tree, £12.99).
