October 31st 1998 was without doubt the worst day of my life so far.  It was worse than when I got told by a doctor twelve months later, that I needed an investigation to make sure I did not have prostate cancer.  It was also much worse than the day when I got told I had type one diabetes for the rest of my life.  

On October 31st 1998, my dad Harold Lloyd died. My mum’s life would never be the same again.  My big sister’s life would never be the same again.  My life would never be the same again. Seventeen years ago today he died and the pain of his passing still really hurts.  I wanted to mark this day by publicly talking about him, it just feels the right thing to do somehow.

I was away at university when my dad became really ill.  I can still remember that awful day when my mum and sister told me in my student room that my dad only had six months left to live. We all broke down in floods of tears and hugged one another.  

He had been not well for about six months, but the doctors had just put him on water tablets. How could the GP before this, never have uttered to him that his swollen legs could be something very serious?

This also was my dad we were talking about here.  He was this massive hypochondriac who had hardly ever been to the doctors all the time that I had known him.  He lived in fear of dying, but always seemed fine up to this point.  He thought he was ill (partly in jest) all of the time, but never was. This was just the norm living with my dad.

I had come back home from Liverpool because it was reading week.  The new university magazine had just come out and I was chuffed to bits to see some of my writing in it.  I could not wait to show my dad this when I went to see him in hospital.  I guess I wanted him to be proud of me.  When we got there it turned out to be a nightmare of a hospital visit.  

He was clearly very unwell.  He died of heart failure therefore at the end, his heart was not working properly which thus had an impact on the amount of oxygen he was getting to his brain.  He was not talking like the nice man that I knew him to be. I had to leave the room to get one of the nurses, I could not see him behave so badly to people who loved him so dearly.

Again, that was not him, but rather it was his illness taking over.  I decided to go for a walk and meet mum when visiting time was over. I never did get the chance to show him my writing in the uni magazine before it was too late.

Before dad died my mum, sister and I, had discussed together how the next six months were going to be really tough.  As they had given my dad only six months left to live then this was going to be his last Christmas. It was going to be such an unbelievably upsetting time, but that was just the way things were and none of us could do anything about it.  

I decided that I would go and see him again on the Saturday evening before I went back to Liverpool on the Sunday afternoon.  The most upsetting part of this story is that I never did make that next visit to see him.  My mum and sister had gone on the Saturday afternoon to see him whilst I did some studying. When they got back home they told me in utter disbelief that my dad had just died.

One minute he was laughing and joking with a neighbour at his bedside, then the next minute his head rolled back and he had died.  He had died six weeks into the six months that the doctors had given him.  I can just remember sort of feeling suffocated at hearing this news. How could he have died so early and so young … he was only sixty-six for crying out loud.

Grief in my opinion, has certain similarities to falling in love.   There is no clearly distinguishable point when people enter these emotions, you sort of one day just become aware of them suddenly.  For example, I can remember once liking this girl for ages and then realising to myself that I was in love with her. You cannot forcibly love somebody, just like you cannot force the grieving process.  

When dad died I had never lost a very close loved one before, so was unsure how to act.  I kept hearing this thing called grief being mentioned, but I was just trying to carry on as before.  I was trying to be strong for mum. I had my degree to be getting on with.

I went around telling people at uni that my dad had just died in this sort of autopilot mode.  The faces of my friends were aghast when I told them in a matter-of-fact kind of way.  I felt bad for not bursting into tears as I delivered them this news … but then it did finally hit me.

The funeral was an horrendous ordeal as you would expect.  My dad was this funny, larger-than-life character who knew loads of people.  He knew loads of men from his old workplace.  He played cricket and crown green bowls for a club called Longsight, so it meant that hundreds of folk turned up. It was devastating to see them all there, however also lovely at the same time if that makes sense?  

Looking back, I am so pleased that so many good people wanted to pay their respects to my late dad. This spoke volumes for the type of great bloke that he was.  I was very upset on the actual day like you would expect.  

Nevertheless, looking back I was still fighting with my emotions.  I still refused to fully let go emotionally.  Rather than embracing my tears of utter devastation, I persisted in trying to fight them.  It was only after I got back to Liverpool after the funeral, do I then think the enormity of losing my father really started to hit me.

Within a week or two of being back at uni I was in complete bits.  I could not even think about my dad or says the word “dad”, without then bursting into tears.  A brilliant lecturer of mine suggested that I should go to see the counselling service belonging to the university.  Going for bereavement counselling was one of the best decisions I have ever made in my life so far.

 I only saw this lady bereavement counsellor twice, but it helped so much.  All I can remember of those sessions is me crying a lot whilst I talked about my dad.  It was only during these two sessions of letting all the upset out of my system, do I then think I started the grieving process.  The pain was still very raw, but I felt more able to cope with it after this counselling.

Seventeen years seems like such a long time ago, but to me it does not feel that long since we lost my dad. I dream about him every so often which is nice, yet at the same time it is also upsetting once I wake up and realise it was just a dream.  

I cannot believe he never saw my beloved Manchester United win the historic treble in 1999.  It really hurts that he was never around to see me finally graduate at university.  It is also heartbreaking that he never saw my elder sister get married to a good decent bloke.  

The first year or two after he died it was hard to even mention his name in a family discussion without us all getting upset.  Then, as time wore on it became a lovely thing to do.  The more we talked about him then it felt like, the more his memory lived on. I still feel like this today.  

Certain unexpected things will happen in daily life that suddenly make me think about my late father.  For example, my dad loved the German composer/musician James Last.  He loved him so much that James Last became the bane of my life growing up ha ha.  

Every car journey would involve dad playing one of James Last’s albums on the car stereo system … very bloody loudly argh ha ha.  When I read the news sometime this year that James Last had died, it instantly brought back all of those childhood memories.  It felt like a bit more of my dad had died that day when James Last passed away.

Christmas time is especially hard for my mum without my dad. It is hard for us all, but I know she feels it the most.  I no longer really enjoy Christmas since he died. His birthday, Christmas time, and the anniversary to when he died, they are all days that just confirm to me how much it still really hurts that he is no longer here with us.

My dad was no saint of course he was not, but he was a good man who dearly loved his wife and two children. His best trait without doubt was his sense of humour.  He made people laugh even without trying.

I like to think this why I am such a joker too, because of my dad. I am so like him personality wise it is untrue.  He was shy, yet also an extrovert just like I am.  He was such a big sensitive emotional softy, like I am too.  He was so sports mad and such a talkaholic.  I am also a massive sports fan, together with being somebody who never shuts up.  It has to be said, I have always been an unashamed mummy’s boy. Nonetheless, without doubt I am more like my dad than my mum, in terms of my character.

As I began writing this blog, I had no pre-planned structure for it in my mind.  I therefore hope most if not all of it, made sense somehow and was engaging to read?  I just knew that I wanted to talk about my late dad on this very emotional day for my family and me.  

I know my mum has never told me this, but when I look back at how she has been since my dad died, it is like a piece of her died that day too when he left us. There is nothing more painful in life than to experience losing a close loved one. 17 years ago today my dad died, but the pain of losing him will live with me forever!

N.B That blog was in memory of my late dad Harold Lloyd, who died on this day 17 years ago.  1932-1998.  We all still deeply love you dad.