For Vanessa “Ness” Hale, standing at the base of Hyperia, the UK’s tallest rollercoaster, was never supposed to be part of her story. A 47-year-old mum from Knaphill, Surrey, she had spent her life avoiding heights, feeling her stomach drop at the mere thought of looking down from a high place. But on a cloudy evening in early summer, Ness found herself staring up at the 236-foot steel behemoth, gripping a framed photograph of her son, Luke Westerhold. Luke had taken his own life in May 2025, leaving a void that Ness describes as “the worst pain I’ve ever experienced in my life.” In the months since his death, she had been searching for a way to feel close to him, to transform her grief into something that might help others. Climbing to the summit of the ride her son had watched being built—and on which his name was permanently engraved—felt like the only way. The problem was the fear. “My knees were knocking together all the way,” she later admitted. “I went into adrenaline mode because I was so scared.” But for Ness, losing her son was far worse than any fear of heights. So she climbed, step by trembling step, carrying Luke’s photo and a heart full of love, determined to honor the boy who had lived and breathed rollercoasters for more than a decade.
Luke’s connection to Thorpe Park was woven into the very fabric of his life. He first joined the park’s staff at just sixteen, a teenager with a passion for adrenaline and a smile that could light up a queue line. Over the next decade, he became a fixture at the park, known for his warmth, his humor, and his ability to make every guest feel special. He was also a witness to history in the making: he watched Hyperia take shape during its construction, marveling at the towering structure that would break records as the UK’s tallest rollercoaster. When the ride finally opened, Luke was chosen among only thirty staff members to have his name engraved on its structure—a rare honor that reflected how deeply he was loved and respected by his colleagues. That engraving became a permanent memorial of sorts, a steel reminder of a young man who brought joy to so many. For Ness, the decision to climb Hyperia was not just about conquering a fear; it was about reaching toward her son, about touching the same metal that bore his name, about standing in a place where he had stood so many times. In one of his final letters to her, Luke had written a line that would come to define her grief: “No matter where we are, we all share the same sunset.” She wanted to watch that sunset with him, one last time, from the top of the ride he had loved.
The climb itself was both physically and emotionally grueling. Ness, accompanied by park staff and a photographer, began the slow ascent up the ride’s maintenance steps, her legs shaking, her breath short. The sky above was heavy with clouds, and she wondered if the sunset would even appear. But as she reached the summit, something strange and beautiful happened: the clouds parted, casting a golden glow across the park. Ness held Luke’s photograph against the fading light, tears streaming down her face. “I think he was with me in some way,” she said softly. “It was really cloudy that day, then it all cleared and there was a beautiful sunset.” The moment was intimate and surreal—a grieving mother standing 236 feet in the air, closer to the sky, closer to her son, sharing the same sunset he had written about. When she finally descended, she felt a mixture of exhaustion and peace. But she also felt a new determination. Her climb was never just about herself; it was about raising awareness for men’s mental health and addiction. Within weeks, she had raised almost £3,000 for MATE (Men and Their Emotions), a charity that supports men struggling with their mental health and addiction. For Ness, every pound represented hope that another family might be spared the unbearable pain she now carried.
To understand the depth of her loss, one must understand who Luke was in life. Ness describes him as a “born showman,” a young man with “the biggest dimples in the world” and a personality that drew people in wherever he went. “Everywhere he went people loved him because he was a born entertainer,” she said. “He had a real sparkle about him. He had time for everybody and would always make people feel good about themselves.” Luke was a devoted Arsenal fan, a lover of magic tricks, and a man who spent hours watching Thorpe Park videos, reliving the thrills he had helped create. His family nicknamed him “Mr Christmas” because of his deep love for the festive season—a love so profound that his funeral, held on a hot June day, ended with Wizzard’s “I Wish It Could Be Christmas Everyday” playing as his coffin left the room. Around 300 mourners gathered at Woking Crematorium, many wearing Arsenal shirts, to celebrate a life that had burned brightly but ended far too soon. Ness remembers the service as a blur of sorrow and celebration, a testament to a young man who had touched so many lives. Yet behind the dazzling exterior, Luke was fighting battles that few saw. He struggled with addiction to cocaine and alcohol, and in 2024 he spent time in rehab in Scotland. Ness recalls his efforts with pride, even through her grief: “I’m proud of him for trying because beating an addiction is one of the hardest things in the world.”
But addiction is a relentless adversary, and Luke suffered a relapse shortly before his death. The news of his suicide shattered his family, leaving Ness to navigate a grief that she describes as confusing, consuming, and without answers. “When I wake up, he’s the first thing I think about and the last thing I think about at night,” she said. “What could I have done differently? What did I do wrong? There are no answers. With suicide you don’t get any answers. Their pain becomes your pain.” This is the cruelest legacy of suicide—the endless loop of questions, the self-blame, the silence where answers should be. Ness speaks candidly about the “pain to positive, pain to purpose” philosophy that now drives her. She knows she cannot save Luke, but she can carry his story forward, sharing his light to help other men who may be struggling in silence. Her message is simple yet urgent: men need to speak, need to seek help, need to know that their pain is not a burden but a battle that can be fought together. Through her fundraising for MATE and her determination to establish a charity in Luke’s name, Ness is creating a legacy from tragedy. She has adopted the phrase “Luke’s Light” and the hashtag #TheSunWillShineOnYouAgain as beacons of hope for others. She wants men to know that even in their darkest moments, the sun can rise again—if they just reach out.
Ness’s climb up Hyperia was more than a physical challenge; it was a symbolic act of love and resilience, a mother reminding the world that her son existed, that he mattered, and that his story is not over. As she held Luke’s photograph against the sunset, she fulfilled a promise she made to herself after his death: to honor his memory with action, not just tears. The climb has already raised nearly £3,000 for MATE, and Ness hopes it will encourage men who are struggling to seek help before it’s too late. She speaks of Luke with a mix of pride and profound sorrow, remembering his dimples, his magic tricks, his Arsenal shirt, his love of Christmas, his voice, his laughter. She also remembers his pain, and she wants no other mother to feel the same. “In sharing his story, as hard as that is, if I can help other people then I’ll have achieved what he wanted,” she said. “There has to be something positive to come out of such a horrible, traumatic experience.” Her journey is far from over. With plans for a future charity and an ongoing commitment to telling Luke’s story, Ness is transforming the highest point of her fear into a launching pad for hope. At the top of Hyperia, with the clouds clearing and the sun setting, she felt her son’s presence. Now she carries that presence with her every day, whispering his message to anyone who will listen: no matter where we are, we all share the same sunset. And after the longest night, the sun will shine on you again.
