Glimpses of You – Music Video Released
Glimpses of You is a song written by Nacoa volunteer Sarah Fellows in memory of her mum and sung beautifully by Sarah’s friend Josh Record.
It’s about the moments when we catch sight of the person our parent could have been, were it not for addiction.
This is a project that has been one year in the making. Please join us to celebrate an amazing feat of artistry from the COA community.
The Children of Alcoholics Community
We asked our community to share their own glimpses – the memories, the photographs, the fleeting moments of connection – and this page is a garden of those experiences.
A space to honour the complexity of loving someone whose addiction made them hard to reach. A collection of the beautiful, painful, precious glimpses that so many of us hold close.
If you would like to make a contribution, please email us on admin@nacoa.org.uk
Audrey
I loved nothing more than when you took me to school. I remember your hand holding mine and how safe and happy I felt. Those 15-minute walks were our special time. I would recite a poem from memory, and you’d listen carefully, proud of every word.
Sometimes we took the bike – you on your purple bicycle, and me sitting at the back, arms wrapped tightly around your waist. We’d laugh together, and I’d beg you not to go too fast. It was the only time I could hug you like that, and it meant everything to me.
I often saw pain and sadness in your eyes, but during those little journeys, you looked joyful – free. I know now that, in those moments, you were happy to be with me. And I’ll never forget the glimpse of your big, bright smile.
Cari
For the kindness you gave to others
For the gentleness in your heart
For your sense of humour im so cherished to have inherited
For all the glimpses of hope that i carry with me because of your strength
Thankyou Mum
In the hush between raindrops she speaks
Memories wrapped in soft relief
Though the bottle blurred her view
Her love shimmered through
Celina
One of the things I struggled with most as a child was feeling as though my Mum chose alcohol over me.
I couldn’t understand why sometimes she was the most amazing, kind, caring and loving person and then the complete opposite at other times.
I lived for those happier times. I grew to learn that the happier times were when I saw my Mum for who she actually was and I was grateful for those moments.
When my father recently died, I found some old photographs that I had never seen before.
I found one of me and my Mum. She looks so happy. Her smile reaches her eyes and although it is not a memory I share first-hand, I can feel the love she had for me in it.
This photo serves as a reminder of who my Mum was and that she always loved me.
Ceri
I remember when you called me, you said sorry, admitted for the first time you had a problem, promised me you’d get help.
In that moment I finally relaxed, I could at last be sure of reality, as you acknowledged the monster in the room.
Time stood still as I imagined we’d finally get to do mum and daughter things like shopping trips….the next day you were gone, but I’ll always be grateful for that day.
Emma
A mam, a grandma, you adored us.
The battle was too strong but I know now you loved us. No more toddlers waiting by the door for mamar and choc choc.
Those days are etched in our hearts, a glimpse of who you could have been without decades of trauma.
There was a glimmer of hope then, a life that might have been. The little people are now teens with little memories of who you were without the sadness.
Gone to early. We miss you dearly, not just for who you were, but for the future we lost with you.
We miss you mam x
Jasmin
My dad was always the silliest when he was sober – pulling faces, cracking jokes, making me laugh until my sides hurt.
In those moments, I saw the real him, untouched by addiction. He always put me first in the ways he could, even when life was hard.
Music was our shared language, a quiet bond that helped us feel close even when words ran out.
We’d spend hours walking and exploring together, like time had paused to offer those perfect glimpses of who he was when he felt at peace.
I lost him to addiction when I was just 17, but I still return to those places: the same paths, the same bench by the river where we used to sit and talk.
I hold tightly to those fragments – because in them, I still feel his love and the light he carried, even when he couldn’t always show it.
Joe
A glimpse of the ‘real mum’ was within a conversation I had with her only a few months before she died. It was the most normal, simple conversation about every day life.
Mum said to me at the end of us talking, “this is nice, this is what I want it to be like”. In that moment I saw and felt all of her suffering and pain related to her problems with alcohol.
She didn’t want to be an alcoholic. Mum fought hard in her life. She fought for her family, for social justice and for those that she taught as an English teacher. She just couldn’t win this particular battle.
Siobhan
My dad was an alcoholic. He died from cirrhosis when he was 39. I was 17 at the time. Alcohol dominated our family life, it was the priority and the choice. It’s where the money went.
It’s where the time went. It’s what caused the various hospital trips, the arguments, the shouting, the smashing.
Alcoholic robbed us of happy family times and took my dad away. As a child I felt loved but also not enough and scared at the same time.
The day before my dad (his name was Mark) died, whilst he was laying in his hospital bed, he said something to me that caught me off guard and made me rethink.
He knew he was going to die and there were days left. The last words he would ever say would be “there’s only 2 things I’m sad to miss – your 18th birthday and your wedding” and then we both sobbed.
And it made me realise, he didn’t choose this. Why would anyone choose this?
Addiction got a hold of him and made alcohol the thing but that’s not what he wanted. I’d spent so long being angry and I’m still angry but i know it’s not something he had control of.
He really did love his family, even though for most of my life it didn’t seem that way. The last words he said gave me a glimpse of how he really felt
To read more experience stories, go to Support & Advice.
