Submission 41

Dad,

I have so much that I want to say to you. I’ll start with the easy one, I never actually became the next Alan Shearer, like was our plan, although I still pretend most days (in the mirror), and there still sits somewhere inside of me the belief that I still can be him. 

Anyway, the difficult part. Over the last 15 years I have found so many ways to try and cope with the fact you’re not here. For the first 10 years I pretended that it didn’t happen at all. I never said your name. I never talked about our family. I blocked out every thought possible. I certainly never spoke about how you died. During that time, I would often be reminded how much I look like you. Some people would actually call me your name, ‘Will’, and then they would realise. 

I couldn’t cope with what happened, I couldn’t cope that you felt so much pain, and that you felt this was your only option to end that pain. I feel sick even today seeing objects that remind me of you and your death - I don’t think anybody has touched my neck for the last 15 years. I still find the concept of suicide and what happened so impossible to grasp. 

Over the last 5 years though I stumbled across others who shared similar pain and unanswered questions to me, this gave me a strange sense of hope. Since then, I have channelled everything that I wish I could change 15 years ago, into other people, and prevent others ever feeling the way you did. I keep your legacy going every day this way. So now, I talk about you every day, to everyone. I talk about suicide for what it is. I talk about you, your life and how you must have felt at that time. People learn about you every day, you help so many people and I hope you’re proud of this.  

I hope that soon your legacy will live on through new generations of our family. I’ll keep you updated on that one. For most of my life I felt as if this was the only way to try and fill your void. 

Dad, what I want to say, is that it’s okay to feel pain. To be upset because of that pain is okay too, I promise. I wish you only knew, what I knew now. 

Love, H.