47 years this year since my Dad died aged 50. I was 12 and my sister 14. They'd been to stay with his bother in Derby and Dad had a heart attack and collapsed in the city centre. I can still remember vividly playing in the back garden in Withington when my Uncle brought my Mum home, as they came round the back of the house and told Craig he needed to go home I instinctively knew something was wrong. Even worse, our kid was on holiday with the school so she didn't get to find out until several days later. Did it change our lives? Absolutely. Quite by chance, my Mum met another bloke only 3 months after Dad had died and, looking back, she was like a teenager again, it's hard to admit, but we weren't her priority any longer, he was. Both of us suffered educationally, Dad was obsessed with us doing well at school and I don't think either of us fulfilled our potential in the way we would have with his guidance. Sadly, in the 60's and 70's it wasn't uncommon for kids to lose one of their parents at a young age but it's fair to say most people worked through it and came out reasonably ok as we did.