I have often spoken about Richard Cole, my mentor in Sierra Leone. He was one of my dad’s best friends and passed away in 2006. I still miss him today.
I wonder how much more I will miss my dad.
A functional father is the best mentor a boy can have. It’s due to the breakdown of families that we now experience such demand for our mentoring programme. But there are some cases where fathers are in the home, yet they are still not present. I was fortunate to always have a very present, very engaged, and very caring father. It’s from that gift that I have known the benefit of mentoring and have wanted to provide to others what they may not have.
John Singleton, my father, was the chair and founder of the LifeLine group. He was diagnosed with motor neurone disease the week before lockdown in March 2020. However, he didn’t die from it. He died from an unrelated bleed on the brain which took him very suddenly. We had no last words, no painful goodbyes. We didn’t know he was about to die and I’m sure he didn’t either.
One thing is for sure: losing someone so close puts you in different club. I feel that I have matured about 20 years. I suddenly understand the practice of condolences. I didn’t get it before—it just felt like the right thing to do, but somewhat trite. Now I realise that each time someone reaches out to me, sends a message or a card, or asks how I’m doing—each time it means something really significant to me. It shows me that people care and that I am not alone.
In fact, I have been blown away by the care my team and friends have shown me alike. Charity leaders often speak of feeling isolated, but I have felt so well cared for during this season. Dad would have been impressed at what a caring team we have. It takes bravery to embrace a difficult subject. As British people, we’re often not comfortable with emotion. So many friends near and far, colleagues current and previous, leaders from local authorities, and CEOs from other organisations have braved this difficult territory to express their care. Each time someone asks how I am or sends a message, it means something.
So, for all those that reached out—thank you for your care.
Dad didn’t believe in retirement. He had no time for it. He was not “doing a job” but following a calling. The day before he passed, he was still working until 5pm like usual. Less than 12 hours later, he was gone.
He was part of a generation that had a different approach to vocation. With his passing, and the passing of many of his peers, there is a vacuum. We must consider how we fill the vacuum. What is our calling to follow?
Some years ago, I was a volunteer youth leader. I spent countless hours with young people—taking them on trips, organising activities, mentoring, liaising with parents. I found a young person merely had to talk to my dad for a couple of minutes to conclude, “I’ve never met anyone that cares so much.” He had a gift to communicate care to people which impacted so many.
One of the condolence cards we received sums it perfectly:
As the leaders of his generation are called home, we should not only fill the space but consider the next steps we need to make to take society further. We need to consider if we will be the brave leaders that venture into new territory or if we will just tend to the same fields already laid out for us.
I am determined to further my father’s work whilst maintaining the values and ethos that he pioneered.
Dad’s passing coincides with our celebration of 25 years of LifeLine Projects. It’s a time when we are looking back but also planning forward. It is a perfect time for LifeLine to reconsider its vision. One of the values we will always carry forward is to show compassion to those around us in the way my dad demonstrated—just as my team have shown me in the recent weeks.