Dear Sebastian,

My name is Joseph O'Connor and I am 45, which I imagine must seem quite old to you, as it sometimes does to me. When I was the age you are now, my own father turned 30, and I can clearly remember thinking to myself that it seemed an absolutely ancient age, like a dinosaur's, and it was unimaginable to me that one day I myself would be 30, never mind a staggering 45. In fact, just writing that now, I find myself remembering that feeling.

I'm writing to you, Sebastian, even though I don't know you, because I've been thinking about you lately. I'm very, very sorry to have learned about what happened to your dad. I have a son of nearly your age and another who is four. The four-year-old is Marcus and the eight-year-old is James. They are both very cheeky sometimes. (Are you ever cheeky?) But they're very nice boys and I'm glad I'm their dad. They like Star Wars, Pokemon, computer games and football, and they would be happy to watch the television all day and all night if I allowed them to. Do you ever want to do that? You probably know kids who do. Anyway, what I'm saying is that I'm very lucky to be their father. And the strange thing, Sebastian, is that when I look at James lately, I find myself thinking about you.

I suppose that's one thing I've learned, a thing my own father told me, when I was eight or ten, when I was a child of your own age: that we can feel for another and love one another and believe happier times are coming, even when we're in the middle of a hurricane. It's very hard to be brave -- I find it hard myself sometimes -- any adult who tells they find it always easy isn't telling you the whole truth. But let me say that I know your dad was very brave indeed. And I think I can imagine how proud of you he must have felt, and how he wanted everything good and beautiful for you. Knowing that won't make things easier for you at the moment, but believe me, the day will come when it will. I honestly wouldn't tell you this if I didn't know it was true; but when you're a little bit older, maybe when you're a father yourself, there'll be moments when you think of his bravery and goodness, and in those moments he'll feel very close to you.

People believe all sorts of things about what happens when a loved one dies. But the thing they all believe -- every single person in the world -- is that in remembering that person and thinking about them sometimes we somehow discover more about our own selves too. Sometimes it's painful; I won't tell you a lie. But then there are other days when we remember them smiling, or eating, or joking, or walking around the house in their pyjamas, or sleeping, or messing, or cracking a joke; and it's been my own experience, when I've known those losses myself, that it's often the happy recollections that come back to us in the end. When a person we love dies, we're walking through a storm. But on the other side of the sleet and rain and wind, there's a happier and more peaceful place.

We had a painful experience in my own family when I was a good bit older than you -- 21 -- but even though I was older, I think I know something small of how you feel. It was a sad and difficult time, for everyone in my family, and even though she's been gone from me for more than half my life now, there isn't a day when I don't think about her, not in a sad or angry way, but just saying to myself 'that was my mum, she wasn't perfect, but she gave me my life, and part of her is in me, and in James and Marcus, as part of her, and part of me, will be in their children eventually.' It's an amazing thing to realise. We're all connected. And her loss taught me one thing, which is perhaps the only thing that really matters in the end. We're never alone, even when we're frightened. There are people who love us. They are looking out for us, always. And when we think of that person whose going-away has scared us, some little but powerful thing about them comes back.

So Sebastian, I wish you the best, and the same to your grandmother, and to everyone who admires you -- I have the feeling that's a huge number of people. Well, you deserve every one of them and there are going to be more, all your life. I'm one of them. And I always will be.

Warmest wishes,

Joe

Dear Sebastian, a collection of inspirational letters to a young boy on living life in the best way possible, is published this week by Hachette Books Ireland, €15.99. It contains letters from Christy Moore, Gay Byrne, Sister Stanislaus Kennedy, Nicky Byrne, Brian O'Driscoll, Nell McCafferty and Taoiseach Brian Cowen, among many others

- Joseph O'Connor