'I'm the same age as my dad was when he died. No one talks about how much that messes with you.'

I turned 38 last week and my two boys joked, "You’re nearly 40, Mum. You’re old!" 

But for all my life, I’ve been told how young 38 is. That’s the age my dad was when he died. "Oh, he was so young," has always been the immediate reaction from anyone, when I’ve had to explain how my father died from cancer when I was two years old.

So, now I’m 38 and it’s a strange feeling to reach the age your parent is forever frozen in time. Most people who have lost a parent young, will say reaching the age of your deceased parent is a birthday of mixed emotions.

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I love birthdays; I love getting messages from my friends, going out or simply treating myself to something nice. And I got to do that this year too. But I also shed a tear. I realised I have always had a fear that I wouldn’t make it to 38.

Now I understand, this fear is completely irrational. I am, thankfully, a perfectly healthy 38-year-old. And I go through life, governed by logic, at least I like to think, most of the time. But there have been a few occasions where this fear has struck.

About six weeks after the birth of my second son, I came out of the shower covered in small red dots, like pinpricks, all across my stomach and legs. I initially thought it was a heat rash, but the dots hung around. I mentioned it to my doctor, and she ordered some blood tests. 

A couple of days later, she called me up and said that my T- cells were at half the level they should be and referred me to a cancer clinic just to be on the safe side. The little red dots, were actually tiny blood cells bleeding under the skin, which can be a sign of leukaemia.

The fear struck. There could be many reasons for my symptoms. But in my mind, I knew that history would repeat and cancer would take me young, just like it did my dad. I won’t get to see my kids grow up, I thought.

Turns out, I was fine. My T-cells went back to normal a week later. The doctors concluded my weird blood symptoms were just a reaction to hormonal changes that occur after you give birth. There was never really a reason to leap to full death scenarios in my head.

I’m sure I’m not the only one who has lost a parent and experiences these feelings. But it’s not a great conversation starter at parties - only about four per cent of people lose a parent before the age of 18 (in developed nations). 

Also, there isn’t a lot of research on the long-term effects of losing a parent when you’re a child. There are studies that say you’re more at risk of depression and anxiety, as well as less academic success and lower self-esteem. 

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I take these studies with a grain of salt. There are so many other things that can happen in your lifetime that might lead to those feelings or results. And if you grow up in a stable home (which I did) I think a lot of those issues can be mitigated.

But, there’s something psychological about the death-age. And anyone reading this who has experienced childhood grief and trauma will understand. I feel relieved to have survived to 38, as strange as that sounds to anyone else. And I hope that when 39 rolls around I will be cured of this completely illogical fear, that pops into my head every now and then. 

The death-age has also been making me feel reflective about how my dad, Andrew Veness, must have felt, knowing he was leaving this world at 38. He had a wife, two young children and had only just discovered his career passion with computers as they began to arrive in the workplace in the late 1980s. He had two loving parents and a brother and sister who were all close. He was only approaching the middle of his life story, when the series was cancelled on him.

And it happened quickly; Dad died only six weeks after his cancer diagnosis. Sadly, I don’t remember him, really. I have a memory of his hands, around my waist as I sat on his lap, snuggling into a grey jumper and feeling safe. I have a photo of him holding me, in that same grey jumper and I will never know if that is proof my memory is real, or something I put together in my head from the pieces of him that remained around me. 

I wonder if he ever thought, "will my daughter even remember me?" Now that I have two kids of my own, that deeply saddens me.

But I am brought great joy, when I am told that I have his smile. People who knew him, will say, "Gosh, I just got a flash of Andrew there." I like to think that I am part of his legacy and my smile… which is his smile… lives on. 

Now when I look at photos of my dad, I see a peer. Here we are, both 38. 

But, from this point on, I will grow older than him and he will stay young. And while ageing isn’t fun, looking at my forever youthful dad is a reminder to be grateful for each extra year. So I’ll share our smile and do my best to make it all count.

Kirsten Diprose is a podcaster and academic researcher and former ABC journalist. She lives on a farm in south-west Victoria with her husband and two sons. She has a podcast is for rural women called Ducks on the Pond.

Feature image: Instagram/@theimpossiblefarmher