From Sophie

Dear dad,

I am so glad you were my dad; we had such great family adventures together.

We were all so lucky to have parents like the two of you. I wish I were able to give my children the colourful, varied, fantastic childhood that you gave to us.

We were different to the other expat families; we broke the rules.

You showed genuine kindness and compassion to many Gambian people.

You didn't send me away to boarding school, I stayed with you. Other families may have thought you had done the wrong thing, but I learned so much from that experience, I am so grateful

I know what it feels like to be a minority; I was the only white girl in my school; you can't learn that every day.

Thank you dad for showing me all walks of life, experiences, the landscapes, the culture, the smells!

What a fantastic childhood.

Who else spent weekends in the mountains, motor boat rides to islands, yacht races and sat around fires chatting to the night watchman with chickens to chase in the garden?

Those memories are so precious.

You taught us to think outside the box. Normal is boring.

We are different but not so different. We are, I hope, still acceptable.

We Cox's try to get on with all sorts.

I feel you have taught us to empathise. I learnt that because you were an honourable man with a great sense of justice and values.

Your continued support and care of Ebrima and his family, who were our extended Gambian family, was unprecedented.

If I can teach my three children such lessons, I would feel proud as both you and mum should.

Thank you for being my beautiful dad and thank you for marrying my wonderful little mum.

You are a hard act to follow and we will always miss you.

Love you dad.

To my dad

I got back from Finland in time to see dad before we closed his eyes.

It was an overwhelming experience made special by all the family being there together.

We cried and hugged and found and gave comfort with dad right there with us.

Looking into his eyes before he went is a moment I will cherish for ever and I thank him for giving me that - he knew I was coming and he was decent enough right to the end to hang on for the wayward lad, the prodigal son.

Poor mum was with him throughout the horrible ordeal which only got worse the longer it went on.

I am really happy to have spent last summer at home with them both. He came home after his first stay at hospital when I arrived back at the beginning of July. He was weak but he got stronger and after a little while mum and I had him up and walking again.

'She's an angel your mum.'

She really is.

We believed there was hope - that is the only way you can go on - but dad was frustrated and mum and I would catch him sitting back in the conservatory looking up at the sky, contemplating.

It's a horrible thing to have gone through, to have suffered in that way and although it is little consolation we can thank all the carers for doing all that they could.

But no one deserves his praise more than mum who was there, who was always there and always has been there, tending to his needs and staying at his bedside with no sleep towards the end.

The last words he shared with anyone were the last words he shared with mum in that little room with two hospital beds crammed into it three days before I arrived: 'Let's go now, Let's go home.'

'We will David, we will. But it's dark now. We'll go in the morning. We'll put the beds next to the window and we'll look out at the little birds in the garden.'

You needn't blame yourself mum, you needn't beat yourself up about anything; you did bring him home, I see him everywhere. I see him in his favourite chair in the conservatory. I see him sitting at the small dining table where we would have lunch together. I see him in his pyjamas and dressing gown making the tea before taking it upstairs to drink with you.

In earlier times when we all lived together standing at the worktop carving the Sunday roast.

At the larger table where we as a family would eat, dad at the head of the table, a glass of red at hand.

Sitting in his chair with the Connolly leather from when he worked at the stock exchange.

In the garden doing his leaks.

In the green house.

And in the studio throwing a new pot.

There are millions of memories that all of us who had anything to do with him will hold in our hearts for ever.

It's easier for some of us who didn't see the last days of torture.

And, mum, it's easier for me.

I see him everywhere and it's good and I can only hope, mum, that soon you can replace the memories of those last few days in Clarke Ward with visions of happier times because...

you did bring him home.

Your beautiful boy is home.