It’s crept up on me… well, I say crept. It’s more like a grizzly bear gaining on me, and I’m legging it, heart going like the clappers, but it’s about to trip me up with a swipe of its giant paw.

What am I on about? 

My eldest is nearing adulthood, and probably leaving home in about a year’s time. 

Despite the late night ‘let’s-shit-dad-up’ shenanigans (jumping out of my wardrobe or standing in the dark in the corner of a room) I’m really going to miss him. That doesn’t sound strong enough. I’ll be devastated. Things are never going to be the same again. I don’t want to think about it, but I’m going to have to. 

I’m already in grief that George and his brother Toby, are not little lads anymore. I had a dream where they said goodbye, and I woke up crying. I’m welling up as I write. 

George arrived following the tragedy of our first son dying at birth. I never thought we’d recover. Thanks to the bravery and strength of my wife, we kept trying. When the blue line appeared it was met with deep breaths… we can do this. 

I suffered with the daily anxiety of what if it happens to us again? To cope, I took up ‘Emotional Freedom Techniques’ – this involves tapping parts of your body to restore energy flow. Sounds like utter bollocks. Probably is. But it did distract from the little voice telling me another catastrophe was around the corner. Maybe that’s the point.

Any headache, discomfort, swelling, and sickness my wife suffered, or if the baby hadn’t moved for like five minutes, I’d freak out.

During the difficult times, before George was born, I wrote in my journal, ‘I just want to be a dad’. That’s all that mattered. I didn’t care about money, wealth, or my career. To be a dad was all I cared about. 

The pregnancy was smooth. Despite my future predictions, it couldn’t have gone better. The due date came, and George arrived in the early hours of the next day. 

I don’t remember him crying, just looking around the room, blinking, dazzled and confused, before settling into the comfort and safety of his mother’s arms, and then, later, mine. The joy of seeing him, safe, healthy, alive, was pure joy. 

He was quite an anxious baby. Once you left him to sleep, as hard as you tried to creep out, he’d wake up and cry. There were various pieces of advice about leaving them to ‘self soothe’, but bollocks to that. I remember watching the whole of the 3hr film, The Lives of Others, while George slept on my chest. 

I saw a comedian recently and he made a quip about the Titanic submersible. Whatever you feel about that, he made a good point, the father who took his son on that trip had one job, when he entered this world, to keep him alive. And despite his massive wealth he couldn’t do that. He put him in a stupidly dangerous situation. 

This is the job. Keep them alive. But also, of course, make sure you don’t let them become an asshole. I’m pleased to say he’s a great lad, and plenty have said so.

He’s looked after me too. We had season tickets for Forest, and during one match I was ill with tonsilitis. Not that I knew it. I thought it was a cold. The poor kid thought I was going to die as I shivered, pale, in the winter weather as we saw out a 1-0 win against Wigan.

They said it’d go fast. It has. There’s a bottle of wine for him when he turns 18. I thought I’d present it to him in the distant future when I’m old and gray. Well, I’ll admit the latter. 

I couldn’t wait to leave for university. To my shame I didn’t think of anyone else’s feelings. Least of all my mum’s. I was due to go on Saturday, but it was Mum’s busiest day in her shop. She asked if I could go a day later so she could help me settle in. I’m sure it would have been fine, but I refused to wait a day more. Dad took me on his own. I didn’t want any fuss. He told me he was proud of me, a punch on the arm, and £20 to buy some beer. I later learned Mum went to Matlock Bath, one of her favourite places, and cried, and cried, for her little boy who’d left home. 

I get it now. 

George mentioned Falmouth University. I put it on the map, and it showed an 11 hour journey by public transport. Maybe not, mate. He’s looking at sensible places now, within a few hours at least.

The last thing I’d want for my boys is to feel they have to stay. Just for us. Home will be home. Always. But I also understand the depressing thought of remaining in the same place. I can’t imagine living where my secondary school is still in daily view. 

I needed to leave home, and I don’t regret coming back, it’s what has to happen in so many ways. It’ll just feel like our hearts have been slapped about. 

Maybe when that bear catches up it’ll just give me a lick and I’ll give it a salmon, if that makes sense. It might not be that bad in other words.

We’ll see.