Gemma Atkinson’s tearjerking Father’s Day letter to late dad after heart attack at 52

This Father’s Day. TV star and radio host Gemma Atkinson shares precious memories of her father and the pain of his passing in this heartbreakingly beautiful tribute, in her own words

Gemma Atkinson was just 17 when her beloved dad David died of a heart attack at just 52. Here, as she marks her 24th Father’s Day without him, Gemma, in support of the palliative care and bereavement charity Sue Ryder, pens an incredibly moving open letter to him in which she tells him just how much he meant to her and how she and fiancé, Strictly professional dancer Gorka Marquez and their children, Mia and Thiago, continue to keep his memory alive…

READ MORE: Three-piece ‘beautiful’ Rainbow Azalea plant set worth £40 is now better than half price

Happy Father’s Day, Dad.

I’ve lived through so many of them without you now, but it never really gets easier.

It’s been so long since I last saw your face and I still think about you every single day. But I know you’d be proud of me and the things I’ve achieved. I think you’d be really happy with my choice of fiancé, too. You’d get such a kick out of Gorka being a professional dancer – you loved to dance – and I know you’d adore your grandchildren. Just like you adored me.

You were born to be a dad of girls. You were very tuned in emotionally and right from the off you taught me and (my sister) Nina how to be tough and stand up for ourselves. You were the first to tell me, “If someone hits you, you hit them back harder,” but also the first to let me know that when I needed a cuddle, you’d be there. We were so lucky to have a dad with both a hard and soft side.

I remember the last time I saw you. April 27th, 2002. You were sitting in your hospital bed and you asked me to get you a Mars bar from the vending machine. It was four days since you were taken in after being found slumped at your desk. You’d been experiencing chest pain for days, but brushed it off as indigestion, blaming the dodgy burger you’d eaten at the Caterham Super Seven race we’d all gone to.

It was so typically you: your leg would have to have been hanging off for you to go to the doctor. It’s something I see in myself now. I’m a “get on with things” person, but how I wish you’d had it checked out.

You were in the hospital because you’d had a stress-induced heart attack. You collapsed on Friday and I visited the following Tuesday. I told you off for wanting the Mars bar, but you really craved one, so I got it and sat on the end of your bed as we shared half and half. “It’s bloody lovely, that,” you said. And then it was time for me to leave. You winked at me, smiled that irresistible smile, and that was the last time I ever saw you.

Even though you should’ve been coming home the next day, you’d had another heart attack in the night. I remember Mum, in the early hours, coming up to my bedroom and standing in the doorway. I could only see her silhouette. And she just burst into tears. You guys were no longer married – she’d moved on and married Peter years before and you were with Janet – but you’d co-parented brilliantly and her pain was palpable. “I’m so sorry, Gemma,” she sobbed. “Your dad’s gone.”

For a long time I was angry. I was angry at you for dying. Angry at the doctors for telling me you’d be able to come home when you never did. Angry at myself for not staying longer. I’d cry myself to sleep at night.

Anger turned to heartache around my 18th birthday. I’d thrown myself into work at Hollyoaks – pretending to be someone else for 12 hours a day was a way to escape the pain – then we had a big party. All the family were there, everyone but you. I looked at Grandma and remember thinking it was so strange that she was there while you weren’t, how that just wasn’t the natural order of things.

But she kept smiling, trying to keep it nice for me on my big day. Now, looking back through the eyes of a mother, my heart breaks for her – the thought of my kids going before me petrifies me. For Grandma, she was living that nightmare. She buried her child and yet I never really understood it back then.

I really think you’d be proud of the mother I’ve become. I sobbed when I found out I was expecting Mia. Not because I wasn’t ecstatic – I was – but because you weren’t there to share our joy.

I talk to Thiago and Mia about you all the time. They call you GanGan David. We’ve got a picture of you in the house and Mia thinks GanGan David lives on the moon and you can’t get out. She always asks us how we can rescue you. When our dogs died it was devastating, but Mia took comfort in the fact you were looking after them somewhere. I really believe you are.

It’s funny how kids pick up on things. When Gorka’s away, working on Strictly , Mia asks me when Papa’s coming home. I tell her he’ll be back but twice now she’s said to me, “But your papa didn’t come home.”

I explain that her daddy is much fitter. That we have FaceTime and mobiles now. I let her know she can get hold of her papa anytime she wants. We often visit your grave but we always keep it positive. I don’t want to give her a fear of death. You wouldn’t want that.

You’d adore Thiago too. He looks exactly like you did as a baby. That’s the first thing everyone said when he was born. People joke that Gorka has no genetics in our children whatsoever. It’s because both of them are so like me and you.

Speaking of Gorka, I wish you’d got to meet him. There have been many times where he would have benefitted from your advice. You travelled so much for work and Gorka needs to be away a lot too. I remember when Mia was born, he had to leave for a tour when she was three days old. It broke his heart but I know you’d have helped him. I can hear your voice, saying, “I get it pal, I had to do the same. You’ll get through it.” I often feel sad that he never got to shake your hand. You only ever met my high school boyfriend. That’s hard for me.

But I’m getting married, Dad! One day, anyway. I think one of the reasons we’ve not done it yet is because of you. We’ve come close many times, but something stops me. I’m now the last Atkinson in the family line and if I give up my name, there’s no more of us. I don’t want to lose that remaining tie to you. Not having you walk me down the aisle… maybe I’ll just stay engaged for a bit longer.

Finally, I want to remind you of the pact you made with Tyler, Nina’s son and your second grandchild. When he was gravely ill with meningitis as a baby we went to visit him in intensive care after doctors warned us he would likely die. I remember so vividly how you pressed your nose to his, tubes coming out of him, his little face blown up like a puffa fish, and you said, “If anyone’s listening, if there is a god, please take me and save Tyler.”

You were gone just a couple of months later. Tyler made a complete recovery and is now healthy and thriving. You left this earth so he could stay. That was how selfless you were, 100% always a family first man. I know you live on through him, through all of us.

I wish you were still here, Dad, but while I’ll never truly get over losing you, I’ve learnt to live without you. It’s my new “normal”.

And I really do believe I will see you again. Until then…

Gemma. x

Palliative care and bereavement charity Sue Ryder offers a range of grief support. Visit sueryder.org/GriefDeservesBetter. Gemma Atkinson is the host of the Hits Drivetime show, airing weekdays at 4pm

Source: Mirror