Famously, you don’t know what you’ve got ’til it’s gone, and now with the benefit of hindsight something has become clear. Michael Mosley was an unrecognised national treasure, wasn’t he?
The outpouring of concern and shock across the nation when he went missing confirmed it, let alone the tangible sadness when the mystery ended in the way we were all desperately hoping it wouldn’t.
This isn’t a specific age group mourning one of their particular heroes – the loss of Michael’s familiar, comforting presence is felt across all generations. He was fatherly, kind, seemed to be genuinely trying to do good in the world, to help everyone be healthier, stronger, happier.
We could trust him, believe him. And like the ‘everydad’ he presented as, we took him for granted a bit, didn’t always fully appreciate how much he meant to us, although we were always pleased to see him every time he popped up on a new TV show or project.
It seemed like he would just always be there, beavering away in the background good-naturedly, with a twinkle in his eye straight from a storybook. And like the luckiest of children, we unquestioningly accepted that he would make sacrifices for us to learn from, in Michael’s case swallowing tapeworms, vaping, and taking magic mushrooms, so we could discover the perils without having to endanger ourselves.
His death feels especially poignant at this time of year, because obviously there’s no good moment to lose your dad, but on the eve of Father’s Day seems especially cruel for Michael’s four children.
There’s no good way for it to happen either. It’s often pondered whether it’s worse for the death of a loved one to be sudden, without warning, like this, or for it to be expected.
My dad was given three weeks to live, and neat and tidy to the last, he died exactly 21 days later. I’d spent that time at his bedside, knowing the end was going to come, witnessing it coming, and it was still somehow a shock when it came.
Michael Mosley’s children endured a different kind of heartbreak, but it’s still heartbreak, whichever way it’s delivered. There’s no worse, or better, just pain, disbelief and devastation.
Every year as my dad’s anniversary approaches, my logical mind tells me that day is no different to the one before or after it, the circumstances are identical, so there’s no reason for it to be any harder to bear.
It always is, though. Grief doesn’t give a toss about logic, apparently. And so missing their dad, trying to come to terms with his death, technically won’t be any more difficult just because it’s Father’s Day, and yet I bet there will be an extra sting anyway.
This Sunday, as I help my son wrap up his present for my husband, I’ll be thinking of my lovely dad, of course – but I’ll also be thinking of Michael Mosley, and his children, and I’m sure I’ll be far from the only one.