Mothering Sunday


Sunday 15th March

Mothering Sunday.

What a wonderful day this should have been.

A family lunch out had been organised.

The celebration of being a mother of two children.

But it is not to be.

My elder son is in heaven. Flying free with the angels.

I look at the card and flowers he had sent to me.

I feel so much pain and sorrow.

This just shouldn’t have happened.

Not now. Not ever.

More sympathy cards are posted through the letterbox, and people leave flowers as a gesture of sympathy.

Their words are so touching and from the heart.

Our son meant so much to so many people.

My younger son calls later on in the morning, and wants us with him.

His girlfriend cooks us lunch, at his flat.

We hug and kiss, so many times.

Now more than ever, we need one another.

The hurt is still there, but I must try to be strong.

We spend the afternoon sometimes talking, sometimes in silence, reflecting.

My son gives me a lovely bouquet of pink and white gerberas and chrysanthemums.

When we get home, I place them next to the flowers sent by my elder son.

I light a candle.

The house is quiet now.

I want to hold onto the memories I have of our son.

I begin to put down in words part of his life story. I then decide I want to raise awareness of this awful disease, testicular cancer, and ask for donations to a charity called

I feel I need to do this. In his honour

We loved him, cared for him, fought for him, looked out for him. We tried to make his life as happy, fulfilled and exciting as we could.

It’s the least I can do for him.


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