Sun writers share conversations they wished they’d had
WILLIAM and Harry’s pain over their final phone call with mum Diana struck a chord with millions.
Like the princes, many people feel they should have said more to a loved one before their death.
Here, GRANT ROLLINGS and LYNSEY CLARKE invite Sun writers to share the conversations they wished they’d had.
Toby Young
WRITER Toby Young, 53, was 38 when dad Michael died of cancer in 2002.
Dear Dad,
The last time we spoke was over dinner at the Italian Marine Ices in Chalk Farm, North London, where you used to take me when I was a child.
You were 86 and dying of cancer. I told you not to worry about burning through any money you were hoping to leave to me in your will. “You spend it on whatever you want,”I said.
If I’d known it was going to be the last time we spoke I would’ve said a lot more.
I would have thanked you for being a good dad. In spite of the fact that you were a workaholic, you found time for me. When I failed all my exams aged 16 you taught me how to write properly – a skill that’s served me well since. You also taught me how to play chess and drive a car. Above all, you taught me how to think and talk about politics.
You were a lifelong socialist and, being a Conservative, I disagreed with you on most issues. But you were patient and reasonable, teasing out the differences between our two sides rather than engage in heated argument.
It was a model of how to negotiate a political disagreement – polite, calm, thoughtful – and one I try to live up to.
I still dream about you and, in those dreams, I often try to express my gratitude for everything you did. It isn’t enough, obviously, but it will have to do.
Alex James
BLUR bassist and cheesemaker Alex James, 48, was 12 when his grandfather Emrys died unexpectedly.
Dear Grandpa,
Watching you cook is one of my earliest memories. I loved your kitchen, especially at breakfast time.
I always looked forward to staying with you at weekends. You would let me stay up late to watch Match Of The Day.
You died suddenly. The coroner recorded an open verdict. We still don’t know exactly what happened, but you had already taught me so much. My love of food comes from you, and I still can’t match your signature dish, the Glen View minestrone soup.
I still do your fried tomatoes on fried bread for five of your seven great grandchildren most weekends. And the first thing I taught them all to make was the first thing you taught me – mint sauce from the garden.
There is no better education to be taught by someone who loves you and loves what they
do. I’ve still got all your records, too, and I still listen to them.
I miss you and when I think of you, you’re in the kitchen doing what you love best with a massive smile on your face.
Deidre Sanders
SUN Agony Aunt Deidre Sanders lost mum Audrey in 1971 when she suffered heart failure.
Dear Mum,
I was on the other side of the world when you died unexpectedly all alone one night aged just 58.
I was 26 and hitchhiking around South America with my new husband and was met in Rio de Janeiro by a telegram saying simply: “Mother dead. Return immediately, Father.”
Days later I was at your funeral surrounded by sobbing pupils – you were a school-teacher – but with no family support.
You and Dad had split up a few years before because of your alcohol problem which had blighted our relationship as I grew up. But I want you to know I was so proud of you by the time you died.
You kicked the alcohol and used the cash you saved to travel the world.
Alone, you crossed the US and Canada on two separate trips, travelled round South Africa and were planning to meet me in Buenos Aires.
When a bear came into your cabin in Yellowstone National Park, you calmly pushed your breakfast tray over to him and sat there quietly while he ate it then ambled off.
And you got into trouble for chatting to a native American – frowned on back then but you took everyone at face value.
I have told my daughters I plan to write down all I can remember of their grandma. You left them a legacy of courage and individuality.
Julia Hartley-Brewer
Dear Michael,
Not a week goes by when I don’t regret that I never had the chance to say a proper goodbye to you.
You were a mainstay in my life since I was four. When you died some years after my mother and you had divorced, I still thought of you as my family.
The last you probably remember of me was as a stroppy teen moaning about being told to clean my room, arguing with my brother and coming home late from parties. All these years later, I can appreciate your kindness, patience and generosity to me.
Now I know what a clever man you were, with an amazing gift for languages and enjoying life. Just months before you died, I learned you had had your first heart attack. But I was at university, you were away travelling and we didn’t get to meet up. I sent you a letter but it didn’t tell you quite how important you were to me.
I never doubted that you loved me but my biggest regret is that I didn’t get the chance to tell you how much you meant to me and, well, just to say thank you.
Emily Clarkson
AUTHOR and blogger Emily, 23, daughter of Sun columnist Jeremy Clarkson, was 19 when she lost her grandma Shirley, 79, to cancer in 2014.
Dear Grannie,
When you were ill, there was always the worry that every conversation would be the last.
But you hid it so well. Even at your most sick, you were still the grandmother I loved and the mum my dad loved. You told us that if you found yourself using Veet as toothpaste – again – we must wheel you to a cliff edge and push you off.