The loss of my father, 3 years on - by Henry King

Do you sometimes get that feeling that when a specific person is calling you at a time you least expect, that you instantly know something is wrong?
When I heard my mobile ringing just after 10:00pm and saw 'Mum' on the screen, I had a gut feeling I knew what had happened.

"It's your worst nightmare" she said, "your father has died".

I can honestly say it's the most shocked I have felt in my life. The feeling of instant emptiness. The reality that I'm never going to see, or hear the voice of, my Dad again.

He was a funny man, always smiling, with a sense of humour so near the knuckle it was borderline treacherous. He could talk for England, mainly about himself, and rarely give his counterpart the opportunity in the one-sided conversation to open their mouth. He would tell the greatest stories - did you hear the one where a tin of baked beans saved his life? He'd give you the last fiver in his pocket and the shirt off his back. Just a few attributes, there are of course many more.

I began to empathise with our clients. I ended up just saying how I felt, the emotions I went through, how I managed. I found myself becoming relatable, people almost agreeing. 'That's exactly how I feel'. I went through all the emotions: sadness, guilt, happiness, anger. I then started to question myself when I wasn't sad for a couple hours. 'Why haven't I cried? Should I be sad? Should I be angry? Why am I laughing?'. I taught myself to just ride the wave, knowing that wave would break and the next would swiftly follow.

In hindsight, one of the worse things I did was occupy my mind too much. I didn't take any time off work, if anything I worked more to continue Dad's business. We often want to keep ourselves busy, so not to give our brains time to think about our grief. Instead I burnt out and after a few months when I started to settle, my brain flooded with emotion that I should have felt within the first month of his passing. It was like I had relapsed. I advise everyone to give yourself time, rest, and experience the grief process naturally instead of 'putting it off' because it will catch up with you eventually.

I could honestly speak about my Dad all day. Maybe I've inherited his absorption? He wasn't just my Dad, he was my colleague and my best friend. Nobody can tell you they know how you feel, or they've experienced the same. 'We're in the same boat', no, we're in separate boats in the same storm.

After three years, it's become the new normal. The pain has eased knowing his life is celebrated every day. Whether that's photographs on display which initiate a conversation, having a packet of Trebor extra strong mints, listening to his favourite music or seeing his features in my son, Hugo. We have a memorial bench at Worthing Crematorium which I use to sit and reflect. The plaque reads 'When you sit and think of Dave, may he put a smile upon your face'. That's exactly what he would have wanted - smile, open your eyes, love and go on.
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David Hugh King. Born 2nd November 1956, fell asleep peacefully on the sofa at home in the evening of Wednesday 20th January 2021, aged 64 years.