Writing Dad’s book has kept him close since his death in 2022, but I’m entering another phase of my grief. I miss our conversations so much that I decided to write him a letter. How do you manage your own losses?
Dear Dad,
I want to tell you why I’ve chosen to publish your story independently. When I was a child, I couldn’t understand why my suggestion of your writing a book made you flinch. Later, you shared the truth: at age two, diagnosed with bovine tuberculosis and labelled a ‘cripple’, society had written you off.
You rejected gatekeepers who said disability meant invisibility, forging your own path. When doctors said you’d never walk without crutches, you found a way. When others decided what you could or couldn’t do, you quietly proved them wrong, adding ‘yet’ to every ‘I can’t do this’ until impossibility became possibility. You kept your independence until the end.
Working on this book together in your final months, you fiercely protected your story’s integrity. We discussed formats, fiction, anonymous biography, academic text, but you wanted unfiltered truth. When I hesitated about sharing what we’d written, you said: ‘Publish’.
After you died, your former students confirmed what I knew. James wrote: ‘Mr Drabble’s endless patience and enthusiasm were infectious.’ But it was your approach to obstacles that shaped me most. You taught me the value of refusing to hand over personal power to others’ decisions.
That’s why I chose indie publishing. Traditional publishing felt like surrendering to gatekeepers, agents, a publishing house, and editors who might reshape your story to fit market trends, who might soften the harsh realities of childhood medical trauma that you wanted exposed. You wanted readers to know that bovine tuberculosis in humans isn’t just history; it’s resurging worldwide and becoming antibiotic resistant. You wanted society to learn from past mistakes.
Indie publishing mirrors everything you taught me: self-reliance, grit, ethical, creative problem-solving, professionalism and the courage to maintain control over what matters most. As you overcame obstacles on your terms, I’ve chosen to share your story on mine. No one deciding if a disabled child’s triumph is ‘marketable enough’. No strangers diluting the uncomfortable truths about long-stay hospitals and family separation or sentimentalising your story.
In one of our last conversations, you said: ‘You have an exceptional understanding, and I trust you with my life’. That trust demanded I honour your story’s integrity the way you honoured your own life: independently, authentically, powerfully.
As an indie author, I can tell anyone, anywhere, about the damage and opportunities hidden in your experience and those of hundreds of thousands of British children separated from families in long-stay hospitals. It means preserving your voice as you wanted it heard.
It grieves me you’re not here to hold this book, but I carry your greatest lesson: true independence isn’t about going it alone; it’s about refusing to let others diminish you or your story. You spent a lifetime proving that no one else gets to write your narrative.
Neither do they get to write mine.
Thank you for teaching me that the indie path isn’t just about publishing. It’s a mindset for life.
I hope to make you proud.
With love and pride,
Helen
Read the article ‘Why I Wrote a Book about Dad, and Why He Wanted it Published’
Order ‘Yet’: A Story of Triumph over Childhood Separation, Trauma, and Disability