My father died suddenly and somewhat prematurely at the age of 65 in 1998. I had just turned 30 at the time and it hit me with some force. I remember promising myself that I would hold it together at his funeral and then crying almost uncontrollably when I read out my remembrance of him. He was a working class man from Salford who'd left school at 15 to support his family and then worked his way up through local councils in Kent. He loved Manchester United, drank a little too much red wine, and smoked for most of his life. I am his son but despite him being around for thirty years of my life I feel that I know so little about him.
Before he died, he got to meet my wife and see me get married in that same year, for which I am eternally grateful. I have a memory of him being happy but drunk at my wedding that always makes me smile when I think about it. But he never got to meet my two wonderful daughters who I know he would have loved dearly, which has always been a matter of profound regret.
When he died I was a mildly successful sales executive working for a large media owner selling advertising space. But that year was something of a turning point. It was not only the year that I married my soul mate, it was the year when my career started to take on a different shape. I wrote a proposal for a new magazine that eventually came to realisation. I got promoted. And just before the turn of the century I moved from magazines and print which I'd worked in for a decade into a rapidly growing but still poorly understood thing called the internet. But it was too late for my Father to witness this shift. I missed talking to him about what was happening in this career-defining time. The challenging things (the rollercoaster ride of the dotcom boom and bust, the scale of expectation, the slightly wild-west feeling to it all) and the brilliant things (building a team from scratch, the fun and the learning, the recognition and awards, the slightly wild-west feeling to it all).
Yet I've come to the realisation over time that his death acted as something of a catalyst in my life. I think everyone has these times in their lives and careers that are real turning points but it's strange that we often don't seem to view it in that way at the time. Something happens and it seems to set off a chain reaction of choices or events. Perhaps turning 30 compounded this effect but those few years at the turn of the century felt like the train I was on had changed tracks and accelerated to the point where it almost felt out of control. But it was exhilarating.
My Father and I didn't have the closest relationship and I think I often confounded him with my choices. But I still miss him. And I frequently wonder what he'd think about what I do now. I feel sure that in some ways he'd have some sense of the challenges and rewards that come from working for yourself. I'd like to think that in some small ways he'd be proud of the things that I have achieved. In many ways we were quite different people but as I get older I seem to recognise little things in myself that make me often think of him. Things I find myself saying. Gestures or expressions even. These things echo through the years since his passing. It's funny how these thoughts stay with you and never really go away. And rightly so.
When we're in the midst of challenging times we are frequently dealing with what's right in front of us. But let's not forget that these moments can be real turning points. Junctions where the actions that we take and the choices that we make can lead to a better future.
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