Dear Dad,

In two days time, I am traveling to your court inquest. And I never thought I would be, but I am scared. I am scared of not doing right by you. I am scared that I am going to get it all wrong. And most importantly, I am scared of not being able to let go.

I remember talking to you just before going to university. You sat me down and told me how your dad died when you were in university, and you quit because of it - and how that was the biggest mistake of your life. You made me promise that if anything happened to you whilst I was at university, I would not do the same. Of course I promised this; I promised this because, even though I knew you were getting worse, my head could not fathom the fact that you would not be there.

But then, 10 days before my 22nd birthday, you died. You died lying on the floor of your flat, waiting for an ambulance that never came because of a clinical error. And no one knows how long you waited before letting go, because no one was there to find out. I'll never know if it was 5 minutes or 5 hours.

Part of me wants to hate you for that. If you hadn't been so selfish and you had waited - or if that mistake was never made; you might have made it to my birthday. You might have been there the following week when I found out I got a first in my degree. You might have made it long enough to see me graduate 8 weeks later. Hell, you might have even made it long enough to hear about my first day as a teacher. More importantly, I'd have been able to tell you one last time how much I loved you - how much I love you. Now I can only tell you how much it hurts.

Of course, I know this is not rational. I know that nothing that happens in two day's time can change the past. But I just want people to know. I want them to know what might have been. I want to scream at the tops of my lungs about all the things that were taken from me - but I can't. I can't because in order to do that, someone would have to be blamed. And there is no one I can truly blame for what happened, which means that I have spent my days sealing up my pain into the innermost part of my heart that no one can reach. I have squeezed all of that hurt so deep down that most of the time I can just ignore it.

But not now. Now, all I can think of is what I miss, and with each memory a crack of pain pushes its way through until my entire body is a cacophony of grief-based aching.

It's not even the big memories that hurt the most - the ones that burst through entire chunks of my protective seal leaving chaos in their wake. It's the small things that slowly seep out afterwards, sewing themselves into the fabric of my being and inch their way through every part of my consciousness. It's these ones that hurt the most because they do not fizzle out like the big bursts. Instead they form nerves of pain, so easy to flare with the tiniest amount of pressure.

Yeah, it's the small ones that make me miss you most. I miss playing living room cricket with TV remotes and kitchen roll. I miss watching you play Crash Bandicoot. I miss watching films with you and pretending to be interested when you tell me about the director's editorial choices. I miss doing maths with you. I miss playing golf in the corridor. I miss the Wednesday drives to training. I miss your stupid ice cream joke every time you see a police car. I miss your incessant need to alphabetise your entire music collection. I miss your complaining of leg pain from me sitting on your knee too much. I miss your constant piles of socks on the floor. I miss your never-ending lists of DIY tricks for every occasion. But most of all, I miss your hugs. Those really big hugs when I had had a bad day and I could just fall into your arms, and you would wrap me up and promise that the world couldn't get to me when I was with you. It's that I miss the most.

And now, I am left without you. I try to do what would make you proud, and I think you would be proud of your little girl, but I can never truly know. I wish you could see how I am doing now; determined to make the best of the life you fought for me to have. And forever and always, I will be yours.

Lots of love,

Your Spud.