Saturday 6th June
Every single day, without fail, without exception, we have stood at your graveside. Sixty days of waking up, and facing a future without you. Sixty days of sadness, pain and tears. Our lives were intertwined: you needed us, and we needed you.
When we visit, we talk, we tell you what’s going on, we tend the flowers and touch your cross, hoping to feel your presence. Most often an aeroplane or two flies overhead, and we imagine you, off on your travels, having fun in theme parks, swimming pools or shopping malls.
Every day I think what it would be like if you were still here with us. Planning our summer holiday, thinking about which book to buy, or where to go at the weekend.
I miss holding your hand. I miss our morning cuddles. I miss saying goodnight to you. I miss putting out your clothes in the morning. I miss squeezing out the toothpaste for you. I miss having to cut your nails. Little things. That mean so much when I can no longer do them for you.
Thirty years old, with Asperger Syndrome, and then Testicular Cancer. We tried so hard to do the very best for you. To care for you, to fill your life with fun and adventure, to love you unconditionally.
But in the end we couldn’t save you. And sixty days ago we buried you. And it just doesn’t seem right.
Dearest Angel son xxxxx