The man who raised me
The Man Who Raised Me
They say you lose people as you grow
but I lost you before I even understood
what losing meant.
You were there from the very beginning.
Before I had memories,
before I had words,
before I knew how to be anything on my own.
You carried me when I couldn’t walk,
taught me the world in ways I didn’t even notice then.
You weren’t just my grandad—
you were everything.
The one who showed up,
every time without question,
without fail.
And then one day… you didn’t.
I was seven.
Too young to understand why the person
who had always been there suddenly wasn’t.
Too young to realise that losing you
would shape everything that came after.
I don’t remember everything—
that’s the part that hurts the most.
Just pieces.
Moments.
Feelings I can’t fully place.
But I know this:
the love you gave me never really left.
It just stayed—
quiet, unfinished,
growing with me in ways you never got to see.
And I think a part of me is still that child,
waiting for you to walk back through the door
like you always did.
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