I lost my little boy, Freddie, 2.5 years ago in a crash not far from our home. My now-wife was pregnant at the time, carrying our son. We were just days away from our wedding. Everything had been planned, family travelling from up North, celebrations ready and so much happiness ahead of us. It was meant to be a special time. Instead, our whole world was torn apart in a single moment because of another driver’s actions.

That day changed everything. What followed has been a never-ending nightmare. It wasn’t just the grief; it was how badly things have been handled after. The justice system hasn’t done right by us. Mistakes were clearly made, procedures haven’t been followed properly, and in the end, the charges have been dropped. No accountability, no answers and no justice for our boy. We are left broken, with nothing but questions and more pain.

Now, years later, that day still plays in my head all the time. I relive it over and over. It never leaves me. One thing I’ve learned through all of this is how invisible men’s grief can be, how easily it’s glossed over. I had to be the strong one. I felt like I couldn’t fall apart, not when my wife needed me, not when there was so much still to get through. I put on a brave face, I stood tall, I did what I thought a man is supposed to do. But inside, I was crushed. I still am.

I lost my son. My little boy who should be here right now, running through the house, full of energy and questions, learning about cars and horses from his dad. That’s all been taken from us. The life we pictured, the future we were excited for, gone in a second. That kind of pain doesn’t just go away, it stays and some days it hits harder than others, but it’s always there.

What makes it harder is having to carry on like everything’s okay. I still feel like I need to be that strong support for my wife. I still have to show up every day and try to be the best version of myself, even when I feel like I’ve got nothing left in the tank. It’s exhausting. Grief, sadness, depression, it wears you down. But I keep going because that’s all I can do. I keep going for Freddie, for my wife, and for the small hope that speaking about this might help someone else feel seen.

I’m only able to stand here and share this today thanks to the support of our RoadPeace family, who have given me the time, space and encouragement to truly come out of my shell and speak. Without your support, I don’t think I’d have found the strength to open up in this way. You’ve helped me feel less alone and shown me that it’s okay to speak from the heart, and I’ll always be grateful for that.

I think it’s time we talk more about men’s grief, about what it’s really like. Just because we’re quiet, just because we don’t show it on the outside, doesn’t mean we’re not hurting. We feel it deeply. We carry it with us. And we need support too. I’m still grieving. I always will be. But maybe if more of us speak out, we can make space for dads like me who are just trying to survive something that never should have happened.

Updated on: 4 July 2025