A Love Letter To My Dad, Whose Life & Death Changed Me

I’ll never forget the date. It was December 22, 2022, and I was speaking to my dad on the phone — but this time I had a strange feeling, like I just knew something wasn’t right.

It was then Christmas Day — my fourth Christmas living in the UK without my family, without my dad. Christmas for me is, or was, my favourite time of year, and I guess you could say it’s now fucked up. Anyway, back to it.

That Christmas, I had this terrible feeling. I kept asking my mum the same question over and over, “Do I need to come home?”, and the answer was still, “No”.

Until I received a call on December 27th from my sister, saying I needed to come back. I remember dropping to the ground. I remember my heart breaking apart. I asked him to promise me he’d make it, but he couldn’t this time, so I guess deep down I knew; I just didn’t want to believe it.

Travelling home

I landed at Melbourne Airport at 11.35pm on New Year’s Eve. You know, the date that everyone is supposed to be having the most magical time, seeing the new year with their loved ones? Nope, not me.

There I was, sitting in the airport, seeing in the New Year with a six-nugget meal from Macca’s — which was everything and more in that moment — waiting to check in for my 6am flight to Brisbane. But this time, it was different. I felt strange.

I had just finished speaking to my mum at 2.30am. My siblings were all in the background, having fun and listening to music, and my sister asked, “Mum, why is Dad reaching his arm up high?” I know now what this means.

As I was checking in, I told the check-in officer why I was coming back, and an orange monarch butterfly flew up to my face and flew away. In my head, I remember thinking, “Dad? Is that you?” But I shook it off, thinking, “No, there’s no way”.

I might be biased, but my dad was the most beautiful of them all. My biggest supporter and my best friend. I suppose that’s what you’re gonna get when you’re the firstborn and a daughter. That bond will be inseparable.

My dad worked night shift at a sports club in my hometown, and he was very well known. Everyone loved him. He had a smile like no other, and everything about him just lit up a room. So yeah, he was pretty cool.

When everything changed

Being the ambitious gal that I am — and of course, because I met a lovely British man, Jack — I decided in 2020 that it was time to begin a new chapter and head on over to Sheffield, England. I remember being so excited. After all, I’ve always been a “the world’s your oyster” kinda gal. But little did I know that this chapter would be the hardest yet.

I was in the UK for four and a half years total after moving three weeks before the COVID-19 lockdown. Meant to be? Yeah, I’d say so.

Shortly after arriving in England, my sister, Chelsea, found out she was pregnant with my nephew, Kolton, who is about to turn six. She was told she would never be a mum. So, a coincidence with what I’m about to tell you next? Nah, synchronicities, baby.

Just a couple of months later, my dad found out he had lung cancer and COPD. At just 44 years old. Hearing this news ripped me apart. It tore my heart out, and our family’s, too, of course. But my little nephew Kolton, who was nothing but a pure Poppy’s boy, got my dad through the biggest fight of his life.

I remember that day. The day our whole world was turned upside down. My best friend, my biggest supporter and my everything. What was coming next is something I wouldn’t wish upon anyone. My dad was the strongest human I knew. The fight he fought, the positivity he had every damn day, was so incredibly inspiring, and I can’t thank him enough.

Throughout the next two years, I had a constant battle over whether I should come home. I was in fight-or-flight mode. I asked him so many times. “Should I come home, Dad?” God, I just wanted him to tell me to come home, but I didn’t, and it’s something I regret every single day. I have never, and I will never forgive myself for not coming home. But I know he didn’t want this.

He waited for me

It was June 2022. I was on a night out when I got a call from my mum telling me I needed to come home because my dad wasn’t doing too well. My heart stopped. Before Jack and I got on a flight the next day, I called my mum and asked her to put the phone up to my dad’s ear, as he was semi-conscious.

I told him I was coming home and asked him to promise he would pull through. With all of his might, he said, “I promise”. Those two words I’ll hold onto forever. My mum was even shocked that he could put words together.

​We got on the next flight, and off we went. Well, that was probably the worst flight of my life. When I got to the airport, I suddenly started wondering how many other people were in my position. I tried so hard to hide my tears, but I just couldn’t.

​I’m a very spiritual person, which, of course, I got from my dad. During probably the worst flight of my life, I asked the universe to show me 11:11 on the plane. I didn’t care how; I just wanted to see if it was true. And fair enough, I remember I saw it three times in a movie, and as we were landing in Sydney to get a connecting flight to Brisbane, we were landing at 1:11 everywhere in the world. I can’t remember exactly, but I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.

Anyway, as I landed in Sydney, I missed my connecting flight to Brisbane, and my dad had to come off the oxygen now. They were waiting for me to get there, but they couldn’t wait any longer. So they did it. I was on the phone as they did, and he made it through. I remember my brother, Kaige, telling me on the phone that he woke up asking about his Footy Tipping competition. So we knew he’d be okay. I was full of complete joy.

​Some people say that he was just waiting for me. Just this time, though.

​Anyway, we made it to the hospital, and I saw him for the first time in over two years. I stayed for three weeks before I had to go back to England. I told him about the signs I asked for (this is an important thing to note). He just laughed.

Leaving him again, I think, was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. For the next six months, my dad was the most positive he ever was. And then came my favourite time of year, Christmas. The most magical time of all. And I think that’s all because of him. Everything about him was magical, Dad. The way he could tell me that I could do anything.

And now, Christmas fucking sucks.

I was too late

On January 1, 2023, I landed in Brisbane, and my grandparents (my dad’s mum and dad) picked me up from the airport.

I got in the car, and I didn’t ask, “How is Dad? Is he okay?” But why didn’t I?

They already knew. I didn’t. I was later told an hour later. I remember my Nanny coming up to me at the car door while we were stopped. No tears came out. Just, “But I didn’t get to say goodbye?” I would repeat over and over again. I called my partner, Jack, who was out celebrating New Year’s in England, and he just kept saying, “I’m so sorry, Sakara,” with tears streaming down.

But why couldn’t I cry? Why wasn’t I crying? Shock?

My dad passed away at 2.50am while I was checking in for my flight to Brisbane. The orange monarch butterfly was my dad. The fact that I wasn’t able to connect to the Wi-Fi after I checked in was because of him.  

​I was too late. Three hours to be precise. I didn’t make it in time, and I’ll never forgive myself for it. My dad was 47 years old, just forty fucking seven. This number haunts me. Oh, and it was New Year’s Day. Like, are you for real?

It’s been three and a half years without him, and fucking hell, I’d do anything to bring him back. 

Seeing signs

If you don’t believe in the “afterlife,” run along, sweetie. Or better yet, stay, and this stuff might actually convince you.

As I said, I think my spiritual side has come from my dad, and I’m forever grateful that we’ve had these conversations in the past. Like, maybe he kinda knew that one day it would make sense.

My dad has appeared in the most magical and beautiful of ways. When I need him, I ask him for an orange butterfly. And sure enough, one will always appear in the most random of ways. Even when I was back in England after he passed away, they would land on me, on my hand!

Actually, I’ll tell you this one story.

I was in La Spezia with Jack, seven months after my dad had passed away. We met a gorgeous couple on the cruise we were on and spent the day together. I was telling them the story of how this orange monarch butterfly came up to me in the middle of the airport when he passed away, and I asked out loud, “Okay, Dad, send me an orange monarch butterfly”.

We all laughed it off and went to find a lunch spot. 10 minutes later, we walked into this beautiful blue café in the middle of La Spezia. We all sat down, and someone opened a menu. I still hadn’t, as I was looking around while everyone was looking at me, dumbfounded. “Sakara, open the menu.”

I opened the menu, and there was a big orange monarch butterfly in the middle. I think even on this day, Jack started to believe in something more.

I have many stories about all the magical and beautiful things my dad has shown me or given to me. Even dreams. And they feel different from my other dreams. I can feel him and see him. It’s really quite magical, and I’m so happy I have this connection with him.

But if I were to tell you every single one of these signs I have received, we’d be here forever.

Just know that the connection we have to the other side is fucking magical. And it’s there. They’re there, right there.

My dad will miss everything 

I have been deep in my grief, and I don’t think I’ll ever be truly happy again in my life without my dad. I have felt anger like I’ve never known. I constantly find myself in a battle of asking “why?” “Why did it have to be him?”

He was just 47. That number makes me so angry. It hurts. Most people lose a parent when they’re in their 50s, and losing him at 27, just three weeks shy of my 28th birthday, has left me baffled.

He’s going to miss everything. He missed me turning 30, and he’s missed me doing some pretty cool things in my career. I still go to call him when I get an exciting email, but I can’t.

He won’t get to walk me down the aisle or meet my future children, and it rips me apart. I’m homesick for a person I’ll never see again in this lifetime.

​Until we meet again

I was so bitter for a long time. I was so scared (and I still am) to live a life without my best friend. My biggest supporter. But this is my journey, and that’s okay. I know every good thing that has happened since my dad’s been gone has been because of him.

I was so scared of being a bitter person, of losing myself — that warm, empathetic side of me. And sure, that part was dimmed for a little while. I even started to hate the universe for taking him away. But then I realised, life isn’t about this. What’s the good in being miserable?

Life can be shit, but it can be magical. I could choose to sit there and be a bitter person, wallowing in self-pity (Grinch pun intended), but what’s the point? This is what life is about.

Grief is fucking wavy, baby, and I’ll never stop talking about my dad. He gave me my dreams and believed I could do anything.

​Until we meet again, Dad.