Shanice McConnachie
guardian.co.uk
Shanice McConnachie says she can't believe the police's claim that her father Smiley Culture stabbed himself to death. Photograph: Sarah Lee for the Guardian
The last thing I remember clearly is my mum putting her arms around me and saying: "Shanice, this is the worst thing I will ever have to tell you: your dad is dead."
He had died that morning, but because I had an A-level drama exam in the evening no one told me what had happened until much later, when I was back at home with my mum.
There aren't words to describe my emotions. I felt my heart collapse but my mind was a blank: I was in complete shock. I ran out of the house crying hysterically. I remember sitting on the doorstep with my mum hugging me.
I didn't ask about how he had died for ages but when I did, I just couldn't believe what the police were saying.
The reason I can't believe the police's story is because the man they're describing is not my dad. For a start, my dad never had the sort of outburst they claim happened: calm one minute and wild the next. He never even got massively agitated: my dad was a calm and spiritual person.
It's also unbelievable to me that he would ever end his life. The future always put a glint in my dad's eyes. He was always excited by his life and busy with where it was going. I can't imagine him deciding to throw his future away, whatever was happening to him at any one moment.
Added to all that, he was scared of needles – he hated them – so the idea he would kill himself with a sharp knife seems insane.
Sometimes I don't sleep because I just can't stop trying to make sense of it; then I get upset because no matter how I look at it, it's crazy. Until I get to the bottom of it, I won't know what peace is.
On the day of my dad's funeral, I was numb. I was crying from the moment I woke up but I didn't really feel anything.
I remember looking at the coffin, thinking that he couldn't possibly be in there. It wasn't until I saw it being lowered into the earth, and mud being thrown on top, that I began to feel a little bit like it was real. I can't really believe my dad will never see me get married, though; that my children won't have a grandfather.
I miss my dad. I miss little things: seeing him laugh, having him kiss and hug me. Listening to him giving me advice. He always made it very clear how happy I made him, just by being me.
The last words my dad said to me were: "I love you." He always ended our phone calls and conversations that way. That was five days before he died.Of course my dad's death has changed me in the way that losing someone close to you probably always does. But it's changed me in deeper, unexpected ways too. I look at the world differently now: if police officers can go to someone's house, let them make a cup of tea and the next minute they're dead, then we're living in a world where anything can happen. I used to feel safe but I don't any more.
He had died that morning, but because I had an A-level drama exam in the evening no one told me what had happened until much later, when I was back at home with my mum.
There aren't words to describe my emotions. I felt my heart collapse but my mind was a blank: I was in complete shock. I ran out of the house crying hysterically. I remember sitting on the doorstep with my mum hugging me.
I didn't ask about how he had died for ages but when I did, I just couldn't believe what the police were saying.
The reason I can't believe the police's story is because the man they're describing is not my dad. For a start, my dad never had the sort of outburst they claim happened: calm one minute and wild the next. He never even got massively agitated: my dad was a calm and spiritual person.
It's also unbelievable to me that he would ever end his life. The future always put a glint in my dad's eyes. He was always excited by his life and busy with where it was going. I can't imagine him deciding to throw his future away, whatever was happening to him at any one moment.
Added to all that, he was scared of needles – he hated them – so the idea he would kill himself with a sharp knife seems insane.
Sometimes I don't sleep because I just can't stop trying to make sense of it; then I get upset because no matter how I look at it, it's crazy. Until I get to the bottom of it, I won't know what peace is.
On the day of my dad's funeral, I was numb. I was crying from the moment I woke up but I didn't really feel anything.
I remember looking at the coffin, thinking that he couldn't possibly be in there. It wasn't until I saw it being lowered into the earth, and mud being thrown on top, that I began to feel a little bit like it was real. I can't really believe my dad will never see me get married, though; that my children won't have a grandfather.
I miss my dad. I miss little things: seeing him laugh, having him kiss and hug me. Listening to him giving me advice. He always made it very clear how happy I made him, just by being me.
The last words my dad said to me were: "I love you." He always ended our phone calls and conversations that way. That was five days before he died.Of course my dad's death has changed me in the way that losing someone close to you probably always does. But it's changed me in deeper, unexpected ways too. I look at the world differently now: if police officers can go to someone's house, let them make a cup of tea and the next minute they're dead, then we're living in a world where anything can happen. I used to feel safe but I don't any more.
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