Imogen’s Story

In May of 2024, I lost my incredible Dad, extremely suddenly. I was only 20, and he was away on holiday in Germany, with my Mum and 4 of his closest friends. Although it hasn’t been long at all, in my own journey of grief so far, I’ve found that talking about my Dad to others helps keep his memory alive forever, and may go as far as to help others who share my same emotions.

I remember I came back from University to look after the house as I had finished for the summer. I had quite literally finished lectures the day before, then made the long trek back home on the train with my many bags. Both my Mum and Dad were baffled at the idea of me wanting to come home straight away from my busy uni life to an empty house whilst they were away. However, I’ve always loved being at home, so didn’t mind what was meant to be a few days wait for them to come back. I sent them pictures of my dinner the night before to show what I was having for dinner as usual, and the last message my Dad sent me was that my dinner looks great and he will show me photos of their hotel room in the morning when they wake up. 

The next day, I was awoken to a phone call from my boyfriend, saying that he was in the car on the way to my house because he wanted to “plan our holiday” that we wanted to do in the summer. I was definitely slightly suspicious, but I never expected what was about to happen.

As soon as he arrived he put my Mum on the phone, and she explained that whilst away, my Dad had suffered from a major heart attack and a cardiac arrest in the middle of the night. She explained that he was alive after being resuscitated, but in serious condition, and that the ambulance had taken him to a specialist heart clinic where he was in an induced coma. I think I have still blurred out how exactly I felt, but I remember how my whole entire world went quiet, and I honestly felt like I was watching myself from the outside. 

From there it truly was a blur, and my boyfriend helped me to book us the quickest flight out to Germany, which we made later that same day. I kept thinking on the flight, how strange it was that everyone around me was probably flying out to go on holiday or go back home, and that no one has a clue about what has just happened to me. 

The next few days after landing in Germany was such mix of blurred emotions. Being in a hospital where none of us could understand the language, even though they spoke English well, was particularly distressing. I recall the first question which truly stuck with me that the doctors asked was “Does anyone in your family speak German?”. The only person who actually spoke it fluently was my Dad. And he was in a coma. 

My Dad had such a love for languages, and every form of education for that fact. He absolutely loved to learn, and believed that he could learn something completely new every single day. I used to laugh at him for this, as someone who didn’t quite grasp education like he did (mainly in the maths department), but I have now realised that this was one of his most amazing qualities that I admire about him.  

His ability to pick up a new phrase in any language or answer every question on University Challenge used to annoy me so much, but now I’d do anything for him to “annoy” me again.

After 4 days of such amazing care in Germany, my Dad passed away at the age of 57. My Mum and I were with him the entire time as he passed, yet because he never came out of his coma, I still feel like I never got the chance to say goodbye to him. I like to believe that every time I spoke to him over those 4 days, he could hear me, and somehow I always had hope that the most important man in my life would wake up like nothing happened. So when this didn’t happen, it makes you lose hope and question a lot of other aspects of your life too. 

It hasn’t even been a full year, but navigating grief for me has been so incredibly difficult to understand as someone who loves to organise every part of my life. I quickly learnt that grief is something you cannot organise, and I need to just let it happen to me as I grow around it. I do however find it helpful to do things in honour of my Dad. I’m competing in the 2025 London Landmarks Half Marathon for the British Heart Foundation, as the date falls on his birthday, the 6th of April. So it felt almost too right. 

To think my Dad has missed out on the past 7 months of my life has been so hard. Him not being here takes away so many special moments from what would have been in all of our lives. I have a lot of thoughts about how he won’t physically be here when I get married or have children, and how my future children will only ever know the story versions of him. I have also recently decided on a different career path after University to what I had told him I wanted to do when he was still here. He would have been so proud and enthusiastic about me doing something I truly love.

Just because I tragically lost my amazing Dad, doesn’t mean that my life should stop and I should lose hope, because I know he certainly would not want that.

It’s just me and my Mum now, and luckily we were very close even before my Dad passed away, but it doesn’t make it easier. I have watched her lose her partner for life, with whom she would be celebrating her 30th wedding anniversary with next year in 2025. We recently celebrated Christmas together, just the two of us, and seeing my Dad’s empty chair at the table whilst having dinner truly broke my heart.

I still have moments where I don’t want to leave my Mum alone, and feel guilty for leaving the house and even going back to University for my final year. I also experienced my own health worries as well as worrying about my Mum’s, and I wondered if I had any problems with my own heart.

The fact that I got to spend 20 whole years of my life with my Dad makes me feel so lucky to have known such an incredible man. We were so close and even though he isn’t here, I know that somehow he still is. I feel like many people would describe him as such a light in this world, someone who was able to make anyone laugh at any time, no matter who you were. He was kind, generous, loving and had the best sense of humour I’ve ever known and I will miss him forever.