My dad has been dead for just over four years now and of course it's got easier in some ways.
What isn't easy is knowing I'll never speak to him again.
I loved talking to my dad. He taught me to read as a little girl - I was very young when I learned to read, and have always been an avid reader because of his influence. He was a deputy headteacher in a secondary school for most of my life and he used to take books from the stock cupboard at his school for me to read. A lot of the time they were a little old for me but I still read them. When I started secondary school, he used to take annotated Shakespeare plays home for me and I learned to love Shakespeare through this.
His degree was in history. He was such a clever man - I used to love the fact I could just say 'dad, why did the Roman Empire end?' or 'dad, how did the great fire of London start?' and he'd know. I honestly thought he knew everything! He spoke three languages, knew lots about geography, current affairs, literature - I can honestly say most of what I know today about the natural world, history, literature, art - is because of him.
He encouraged me to learn music and when I was small I said I wanted to give up the piano as I found it hard. He said I could but asked if I would try to learn his favourite song first (Let It Be!) He said he would be so proud of me if I did and of course, by the time I'd mastered that, I was reasonably accomplished.
My mum loved me, but she didn't really like me much or understand me. My dad obviously adored me and was very proud of me and it gave me such a lot of confidence.
He died four years ago, and he wasn't even 70. Just mid sixties. I still don't fully understand how and why but I don't need to, I just miss him. DS is doing a project at school about world war 2. My dad would have loved it.