Lynn and Stuart at one of his beloved Hull City matches (Picture: Lynn Carratt)
Christmas is a time for celebration and spending time with our loved ones – but for me, this year will be bittersweet.
It’s my daughter Mia’s first Christmas – but it’s also my first without my beloved father, Stuart.
Last Christmas, my dad was lying gravely ill in a hospital bed, fighting pneumonia (a common illness for many who are living with dementia). He died three days later, on 28 December.
I can’t help but look back now with profound sadness. Especially as I gave birth shortly after he passed away and he’ll never meet Mia.
My dad was a proud, kind man who loved going on holiday and who didn’t let anything get in the way of him watching his beloved Hull City play.
I had a very close relationship with him growing up. After he and my mum Marion divorced in the mid-nineties I lived with him, so during my teenage years it was just me and my dad at home.
Last year, I sat by his bedside at eight months pregnant, holding his hand and willing him to survive long enough to meet his first grandchild.
I remember waking up on Christmas morning, and heading straight to the hospital with a present and card for him.
My dad was a proud, kind man (Picture: Lynn Carratt)
It’s devastating to see a person you love become a shadow of their former self (Picture: Lynn Carratt)
He couldn’t open it, so I opened it for him and put it in his hands – it was a rattle (people living with dementia feel agitated and giving them something to hold offers comfort).
I knew, realistically, that this would be his last Christmas. I still hoped that he would hold on long enough for me to place my daughter in his arms.
He’d fought a long battle with dementia, having been diagnosed in 2015, aged 69. But, unfortunately, things had taken a downward spiral in 2020.
For the final six months of his life, he was in and out of hospital. I helped my brother Lee care for him throughout the pandemic and my pregnancy – travelling between his hospital in Hull and London weekly.
It’s devastating to see a person you love become a shadow of their former self – dementia is an illness that doesn’t take any prisoners.
As I sat there comforting my dad on Christmas Day, I noticed his heart rate rising on the ECG monitor by his bed – he became distressed.
As his heartbeat became more rapid, I screamed for help. I started crying, saying: ‘Not today, Dad – please!’
Finally, the medical staff managed to stabilise him. I called my husband, James, my brother, Lee, and my mother to come immediately. We stayed there all day, with Dad going in and out of consciousness, while we snacked on pork pies and crisps to keep us going.
Stuart as a baby, left, and Mia, right (Picture: Lynn Carratt)
It was difficult to believe it was Christmas – I don’t think any of us opened our presents for days.
Going to bed that evening, I didn’t sleep a wink – fearing the call saying he’d passed away.
Sadly, Dad lost his fight on December 28 and passed away aged 75. Thankfully, my brother was with him.
As I said goodbye, the sadness that he’d never meet his grandchild hit me. I’ll never know if my pregnancy ever registered with him, even though I always told him.
I’d lost the most important person in my life when I needed him the most – mere weeks away from giving birth.
After his death, I was grief-stricken – but had to stay strong for the sake of my unborn baby. Underneath it all though, I was struggling to cope.
Seeing his face beaming around the stadium is a treasured memory (Picture: Lynn Carratt)
First, we had to arrange his funeral. Then Hull City held a tribute to their fans who’d passed away in 2021, so there I was – waddling around a week away from my due date.
Still, seeing his face beaming around the stadium is a treasured memory. He would have said: ‘It’s me – I don’t believe it.’
I ended up visiting Dad in the chapel of rest, because I didn’t want my last memory of him to be in his hospital gown. But, on seeing him laid peacefully in his coffin, I immediately broke down – he looked nothing like the kind, beautiful person I remembered.
I had placed a scan picture of Mia in his suit jacket pocket, so it could be buried with him.
The funeral directors arranged his funeral for January 28, just a week after I was due to give birth. Fortunately, I’d opted for a C-section, so I knew the date.
The day I gave birth should’ve been one of the happiest moments of my life, and it was – to an extent.
Lynn’s husband holding Mia in front of a picture of Stuart (Picture: Lynn Carratt)
Last year, I sat by his bedside at eight months pregnant (Picture: Lynn Carratt)
I was in awe of my newborn, Mia – but, it was also the saddest day, knowing that my dad would never get to meet her. Initially, I struggled to bond with Mia in the days after giving birth as I was utterly consumed by grief. That hurt will never go away.
A week later, I made the five-hour car journey from my home in London to Hull for my dad’s funeral. I was still in agony from the C-section and bleeding heavily.
With all my pregnancy hormones still raging around my body and the grief of losing dad, it all became too much and I crumpled at his graveside. At his wake, Mia ended up meeting those closest to him – which I took some comfort in.
When someone dies, there’s a great deal to sort out; add a newborn baby into the mix, and life becomes challenging. Looking back now, a year on, I honestly don’t know how I coped.
On the anniversary of dad’s death, I’ll travel to Hull and visit his grave (Picture: Lynn Carratt)
After we buried dad, I visited my GP and asked for antidepressants because I feared spiralling into postpartum depression. Thankfully, they helped me manage my maternal mental health in the short term – helping me thrive again.
I deeply regret not having a baby earlier to watch my dad revel in being a grandfather – it brings a tear to my eye thinking about it. But my daughter’s beautiful smile helps the pain I feel every single day without him.
Despite her initial rocky start, Mia is a happy, independent child who loves people.
She looks the spitting image of her grandad some days, and many of his mannerisms seem to be sneaking in already.
She pulls faces while looking at herself in the mirror, like Dad used to do, and when she’s upset I see the same facial expressions my dad used to make.
For me, the festive season isn’t the joyous occasion it once was, but I’m determined to make it special so that Mia can enjoy the magic of Christmas. This year my family are coming to London, and we’re treating ourselves to Christmas dinner at a nice restaurant.
On the anniversary of Dad’s death, I’ll travel to Hull and visit his grave – remembering all our special times together. My brother and I will then raise a glass to our precious father, who is always dearly missed.
Mia, I can’t wait to tell you all about your Grandad Stu.
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I’d lost the most important person in my life when I needed him the most.
