Dear Daddy



I find myself looking at men of your age and wondering what you’d be like in your late 70s, amusingly I also think of you when I look at a squished tube of toothpaste!

To be honest I’ve wondered what you’d look like in your 40s, 50s and 60s. It’s not the older man thing though it’s because I’ve not seen you for 35 years. Today it’s 35 years since I said “bye bye Daddy” and was driven to Bath where I didn’t sleep all night. When I heard the phone ring early on the morning of 19 February 1979 I knew, without being told, that you had died.

In those 35 years I’ve grown up, become an adult, married, had 3 girls (who all have your skin or eye colouring, or both) and now I am older than you ever were.


My memories of you are treasured and although there’s not that many in such a short space of time there are so many things that remind me of you and they make me think! I only knew you for 9 years but I’m so much your girl!

The other day I watched as Laree squeezed the toothpaste tube in the middle and I yearned for the little metal thing you attached to the toothpaste. She’s the age I was when you died and I wish that she and your 4 other grandchildren had known you and your high standards of toothpaste etiquette.

But above all I wish that they had known you for your beautiful smile, your fabulous sense of humour, your amazing organisational skills and your pipe smelling bearded hugs – and maybe, just maybe, my girls wouldn’t squeeze the toothpaste in the middle of the tube.

Thank you for the memories and the happy times.

Lots of love Nellie Noo Noo xx






10 responses »

  1. This is the most lovely blog, eloquently capturing those feelings we experience when our Dad’s are no longer with us…..very powerful and very touching. My Dad, like yours, is forever young in my memory (though admittedly not as young as yours). And there’s some comfort for me in that, but boy, have both our Dads missed out on so much they would have loved, adored and laughed at xxx

  2. This is a heart-filled post, and I get the sense it was probably both easy and difficult to write at the same time. I’m lucky that both my parents are still alive (albeit very ancient), but my husband’s father died relatively early and little things remind him of his dad, both pleasant and not so. Having a father die very early in your life (as with my mother) means you miss out on the 1:1 relationship that is so important with fathers, with the consequences that occur afterwards.

    • Thank you. It was both easy and hard to write and I’m happily not alone in the toothpaste issue!! I don’t know any different but when my own children won’t take no for an answer from one parent they do tend to ask the other one, we never had that luxury. Mind you when my mum says it was Tuesday it WAS Tuesday!!!

  3. What a lovely tribute. I also have the thing about the toothpaste tube squeezing, although am lacking the metal thingummy to inflict upon my family. I have taken to correcting the results of improper usage when I brush my teeth, since I am alone in my superior tube squeezing skills in the house.

  4. My father lost his Mother at nine and always said that he never stopped missing her but that her loss became part of him. He died in December and even know I am lucky to have had 52 years it’s still hard.

    You write beautifully.

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