Sinead O’Connor took my dying daughter dancing and gave her the best week of her life – I’ll never forget her kindness
MOVING stories of Sinead O’Connor’s kindness have surfaced since the star’s shock death last week aged 56.
Among them is that of tragic fan Louise Woolcock, 20, who was dying from terminal cancer in 1991.
out of the blue and invited her to spend a week with her at her London flat.
Louise’s dad Philip, a retired English teacher from Preston, said she had “the best week of her short life”.
He tells Georgette Culley his daughter’s incredible story . . .
“DAD, have you been drinking?” Louise laughed, when I told her Sinead O’Connor had phoned.
READ MORE ON SINEAD O'CONNOR
It was 1991 and Sinead was at the height of her fame. Like Louise, I thought it was a wind-up when I took the call.
But it was real. Sinead spoke so quickly and softly in her gentle Irish accent I had to ask her to slow down — especially as the line was faint because she was calling from LA.
At the time, my beautiful daughter was 20 years old and suffering from terminal cancer. S
he’d found out she had rhabdomyosarcoma at the age of 18, just before she was due to start studying Germanic languages at Leeds University. Her bags were packed and ready to go when she received the devastating news.
Most read in Celebrity
A massive fan, Louise adored Sinead’s music and was one of her all-time favourite songs.
It was lovely to see her smile after she’d endured months of gruelling chemo.
Sinead must have read Louise’s story in the press, as we’d been doing a lot of charity events to raise funds for our local hospice.
Getting that phone call was very special — but more excitement was to follow when Sinead invited Louise to stay with her in London.
Soon she was excitedly packing her bags and catching a train from Blackpool to Euston station.
Sinead, who would have been 25 then, was there to meet her when the train pulled in. Wearing a big, black hooded jumper and tracksuit bottoms, she wasn’t dressed like a superstar and she gave Louise a lovely smile and hug when she saw her.
There was no pomposity about her. Just a girl from Ireland meeting a girl from Blackpool.
Beside her was a big security guard called Winston, who towered above her tiny 5ft 3in frame.
Louise, like Sinead, was self-deprecating and had the same sense of humour, always effing and blinding.
A posh car pulled up and Louise was whisked off to Sinead’s pad.
After Louise’s chemo, her hair had started to grow back but it was still very short. Sinead, who rocked her signature buzz cut, shaved Louise’s head and they looked like sisters.
That night they went out drinking and dancing — and met up with singer Peter Gabriel. From all accounts it was a wild night and I don’t think they got any sleep.
They ended up in Pizza Express, where Sinead and Louise sang Love Shack at the top of their voices.
Hilariously, people kept asking Louise for her autograph. She kept telling them: “I’m a nobody” but they insisted she sign her name on their menus, receipts, arms, legs or whatever they had to hand. Of course, Louise was wrong. She might not have been famous but she most definitely wasn’t a nobody.
She was Our Louise. Very special to us, and loved by everyone who knew her, including Sinead.
When she came home a few days later, she was exhausted but very happy.
It was the first time I’d seen her eyes sparkle since she started her chemo nearly 18 months before.
As the cruel illness riddled her body, she lost her eyelashes and dropped from 7st to 5st.
Sometimes she could barely walk and would be wheezing.
But while the cancer destroyed her body, it could never take away her spirit. Every morning, when I’d take a cup of tea into her room, she’d say: “Are you all right, Daddy?”
I’d put the cuppa down and leave the room, trying to hide my tears.
Here was my perfect daughter dying of cancer and she was asking if I was OK.
It didn’t seem right, but Louise was selfless and never complained or felt sorry for herself.
On another visit to London, Sinead gave Louise her platinum disc for Nothing Compares 2 U and dedicated her Christmas song Silent Night to her.
As Louise’s illness worsened, Sinead stayed in touch, with phone calls, flowers and thoughtful cards.
She was always there for her, a wonderful friend, a beacon of light and laughter who brightened her darkest days.
Sinead trusted Louise like a sister. She often spoke about how she had come from nothing and she wasn’t sure who was genuine in her life.
She wasn’t a celebrity to us, she was just Sinead, a wonderful friend to our dying daughter.
In 1991 I had a call from the office of the Lord-Lieutenant, the monarch’s personal representative, saying Princess Diana wanted to meet us.
Come the big day in July, the heavens opened and we were taken to Blackpool Town Hall in a chauffeur-driven limousine. Diana had been out in the rain greeting well-wishers before she came inside. She sat down on a settee, invited Louise to sit next to her and said: “Sorry, I look like a drowned rat, but I’m visiting a house for the blind next, so hopefully they won’t notice.”
Louise and Diana started giggling like schoolgirls. Like Sinead, Diana was warm, welcoming and vibrant, with crystal-blue eyes.
Cruel twist
A year later, in August 1992, Louise’s condition worsened and she was moved to a hospice for her final days.
Hearing this news, Sinead called us, heartbroken that she couldn’t visit her.
She didn’t come to her funeral due to an exceptionally hectic work schedule but she sent flowers and a lovely card with a heartfelt message of love. Louise had a great send-off and we were grateful to Sinead — and Diana — for bringing her some excitement and joy in the months leading up to her death.
In the years that followed we threw ourselves into charity work.
We tried to hold it together for the sake of our two sons, Barney and Sam, but we were heartbroken.
Sadly, my marriage to Louise’s mum, Judy, broke down and we divorced in 2004.
In 2005 I found happiness with Jenny, 45, a cognitive behavioural therapist, and we had a beautiful son, Reuben, now 14.
In a cruel twist of fate, Judy and I lost our beloved son Barney, 35, in 2018 to a rare form of cancer.
Barney was a huge Liverpool fan, a handsome 6ft lad who was confident, intelligent and very extroverted. Like most kids, he was always scrounging money off me.
The last time I ever saw him I asked him for the 50 quid he owed me and he just laughed.
Like with his sister, humour got us through our darkest days and nights.
Barney was buried next to his beloved sister, in the plot which should have been for me. No parent should ever have to bury their child.
I believe Sinead died from heartbreak after tragically losing her beloved 17-year-old son Shane last year.
I used to be an atheist but I’m not so sure any more. Louise once suffered a heart attack during an operation to remove a cancerous tumour. She died on the operating table but came back to us.
The experience she had was so lovely and peaceful, she was no longer scared of dying. “Daddy, it was beautiful,” she smiled. “I was floating above my body and could see the surgeons working on me. There was a bright light and I wanted to go towards it. I felt calm, peaceful and I didn’t want to come back.”
Then all of a sudden she said she was brought back to life and her chest was hurting. But she desperately wanted to go where the bright light was. She wasn’t a flowery person and I’d never heard her talk that way before.
READ MORE SUN STORIES
I believe Louise, Barney and Sinead are there now. In that bright light — heaven.
I imagine them together — laughing, dancing, singing — and knowing our Louise, probably effing and blinding.
