Love story: Holding onto the glimmers of my dad, Blues legend Steve Mortimer

perspective Love story: Holding onto the glimmers of my dad, Blues legend Steve Mortimer Sun 28 Jun 2026 at 12:00pm Erin Mortimer's dad, Bulldogs and Blues legend Steve Mortimer, was diagnosed with dementia at just 60 after years of concussions during his playing career. At 69, his condition has progressed and he's living in a care home. Erin, a singer and songwriter, is holding on to the special memories she has of her dad, and the glimmers of him that remain. Whether it's romantic, platonic, heartbreaking or surprising, our Love Story series is about love in all its forms. Share yours with us. I'm the youngest of three, with two older brothers, Andrew and Matt, and lots of boy cousins. Girls are very rare in our family. I had a very happy childhood. It was very family-oriented. I didn't play much sport, but I did my dancing. Dad would take me to both piano and dancing lessons. It's the small things and attention to detail my dad had that stay with me. When I would come out of piano lessons and he was mid radio interview doing his footy tips, I'd come into the car and he'd have a chocolate waiting on the chair for me, so I could enjoy it until he finished. I obviously loved piano, but I loved that little chocolate treat. It was a big deal, one of the ones that had the toy inside. Some of my other core memories with Dad are of driving up to the country to visit extended family. People wouldn't think a footballer like him would like classical music, but he used to play so much classical music on those drives, as well as Coldplay and Van Morrison. Driving through the Blue Mountains in autumn, he would always admire the colours of the trees. I carry that with my two little girls. When the trees start to change in colour, I'm a sucker for that. Always there for us kids I moved to the UK in 2011 and was only meant to stay for two years, but stayed for eight. I met my husband there, and he lives back here now. When Dad would visit, he would pour into whatever live music venue I was playing at in London. He couldn't hear very well, but he would sure as hell be there amongst a very different-looking crowd. Another significant memory is when he walked me out onto the field for game one of the 2013 State of Origin. I sang the anthem at that one for the second time; I even had him in the sheds with me. I just knew I needed someone with a calming presence who had been in this environment before. He was always talking about [my brothers] Andrew, Matt and I to whoever. He might not have known much about some of the career paths we chose, but he sure as hell would make an effort. Vocal about his love He would always tell you he loved you and was proud of you. He was very vocal about that. He wears his heart on his sleeve. He was always there for other people. When Mum would come home late from the theatre, he would have long and truly gone to bed. But he'd have a glass of wine poured and chilling in the fridge, with cheese and bickies with cling film over it for her to snack on when she got in. When I was still at home and doing shows, he would do the same for me. He tried his best to take the hassle out of things for anyone. We nicknamed him Mother Hen. Lullaby for the Old Man There is a crossover with Dad's diagnosis and my eldest daughter. She was born at the start of 2021 during the pandemic. I would take her over to see Mum and Dad, and as she was coming into her own at about six months old, he was starting to deteriorate. That was so bittersweet. It's that exact time that Lullaby for the Old Man started to come about, which is what I perform on [ABC program] The Piano. It's about that delicate time of just coming to the realisation of all the wants and wishes I could just hope he could still have, and I could still have. Glimmers of my dad Our relationship now is the same but also different in many ways. There is a real vulnerability about where he's at. He's much further progressed now; sentences and words don't necessarily make sense. But long-term muscle memory sometimes will kick in. His protective mother hen nature. My young girls are so active and all over the shop when we visit, and I notice him watching them and leaning forward in his chair with his hand out. Like he's ready to catch them if needed. There's glimmers of him. My relationship is gentle, it's soft, but it's lighthearted. Maybe that's a protective thing for me and the reality of what is going on. But being calm and lighthearted, I think, is helpful for anyone you would approach in that situation. What I love most about my dad is his heart. His way of putting himself aside and being of service to others. And the way he would champion the underdog. I'm proud of him.