Do what feels right for you.

A visit that didn’t feel right, a memory that now can’t be unseen, and the quiet realisation that sometimes the hardest decisions are the ones we make against our own instinct.

Dear Leo,

Decisions are ours to make.

As we move through life, our edges sharpen. We get quicker at reading a room, sensing a situation, knowing if something feels right or not.

Experience helps. So does time.

But beneath all of that, there’s something quieter. Something that doesn’t need to be learned.

Your gut instincts. An internal compass. An alarm system that speaks without words.

The strange thing is, as we get older, we often learn to ignore it.

We start listening to the expectations of others. We follow what others believe is right. We people-please. We override that quiet voice.

We get lost in the tension between duty and instinct.

And sometimes we pay for that.

This Easter weekend, I went to see your Great-Grandma.

The first time in three years. The last time we were together, you were just over one.
We all gathered in the kitchen: your cousins, my brothers, the whole family.

Her dementia had already begun then. But there were still flickers of her. Brief moments, which came as a sign of hope or relief, that she might still be there. 

This time, however, was different. Dementia has taken hold of her now. Completely.

I think your Grandad (my dad) wanted me to see her because he knows this may be the last chance.

So I went. Out of duty. Loyalty to him, and respect for who Grandma is, to us all. 

I saw her through the window before I walked in. Sitting in a wheelchair, looking down at a pile of Duplo blocks.

This common room she was in, was not a nice place to be. The faces around were hollow, the bodies were limp, the room was hot, and in amongst it all, you've got the nursing staff trying hard to counter the inevitable with higher energy, interactive faces and smiles. 

Your grandad soon took hold of the chair and wheeled her into her bedroom, where we could sit down in private.

A small space. Four walls that now hold her entire world.

For decades, she lived in the same home. I have so many fond memories of being in this house.

Now, it’s been reduced to a few framed photographs on a bedside table.

It makes you realise that everything we build, collect, accumulate…can disappear from our lives in an instant.

I couldn’t find words in that room. So I propped myself up in the corner of the room and absorbed the whole lot. 

Your grandad held her hand, fed her small pieces of easter egg chocolate, offering as much of himself as he could. 

Your uncle tried to bring some light into the room with surface-level questions. Not a single one was heard, acknowledged, or answered. 

At one point, Grandma slowly turned to look at me. A long, empty stare. As if her mind was searching, reaching, trying to find me.

But it couldn’t. There was no recognition. No flicker. No animation in her face or eyes. No sound. 

And then she turned away.

Those few seconds will stay with me, unfortunately. 

And that’s what I’m left with now.

Of course, I have happier memories. 

The birthdays she never missed. I don’t think I ever told you that, but your grandma from the age 0-13 ish never missed my birthday. Meaning that she travelled to Cyprus, Australia, Germany, Wales, and various other places, just to be there for my birthday.

Grandma was a primary school teacher, she was my teacher for a short while. Imagine that, I was probably a few years older than you are now, and Grandma was my schoolteacher. 

. Maybe it’s because it’s so raw, so fresh. This happened on Friday, it’s Tuesday morning. But I have asked myself since: did I make the right decision to go?

And my honest answer is…I don’t think I did.

I’ve been here before. When I lost my grandad, your other great-grandad on my mum's side, to the same disease.

I remember seeing him in that state. And I remember thinking, even then I don’t want this to be how I remember him. He was a decorated Royal Marine, a qualified Olympian, a decathlete who rode a white horse called ‘Pegasus’. I mean, this guy was a hero, and that’s how I wanted him to remain in my memory.. 

But I was younger. So I followed what others thought was right.

What I’m trying to tell you is this:

Not every “right thing” is right for you.

Every decision you make shapes your path. Some will feel easy. Some will sit heavy.

But if you listen to that quiet voice inside you, it will guide you more honestly than the world ever can.

I’ll choose to remember Grandma for who she was.

The wise old owl. The teacher. The loving woman who never missed a birthday. GG to all her grandchildren. The reason we have spent so much of our lives as a family in Devon.

Do what feels right for you, Leo.

Love you always,

Daddy x