Sunday 25th October
Although you were never able to be fully independent because of your autism, you did like to wander off to the town or beaches on your own. If you knew a place, and felt safe, then you were quite happy, strolling in and out of book shops, looking through the windows in the High Street, or sitting somewhere watching the holidaymakers. You’d be out of the house for an hour or so, and then you would return, to touch base, just to be sure that we were here.
It was the same in the theme parks of Florida, once you knew the layout, off you’d go, queuing for the rides on your own, safe in the knowledge that we’d meet up again for lunch, a drink or a snack. If you weren’t too sure, you’d run ahead, taking everything in, come back to us, then scamper off again. You probably covered twice or three times the distance that we would walk in a day.
In shopping malls you always wanted to go off on your own, but that was after we had located the food court. We set a period of time, say two hours, and we’d all meet back there. (You couldn’t tell the time, wouldn’t wear a watch, but you were pretty amazing at gauging the passing of time.) Without fail, you’d turn up at the allotted location, exactly at the right time. Sometimes it was uncanny how you managed to do this.
When we stayed in hotels, you liked to be in the same room as us. You said this was because you could see us. You liked to see our faces when we slept. I don’t think you wanted to sleep on your own, and having us close by was reassuring. You wanted to be sure that we were there.
It was the same when you were having chemotherapy, we stayed with you all those nights in hospital. You liked having us next to you, and you’d often want to hold my hand. Again you wanted the reassurance of our presence.
So, just like Piglet, when he takes Pooh’s paw, “I just wanted to be sure of you.”
And we were always, always there for you.
I just wish I could have saved you.
That is all.
Love you forever my darling.
Precious Angel son xxxx
The beach this afternoon, where you loved to walk.
The surf today.
Porthmeor surf
The Journey of My Left Foot (whilst remembering my son) 
🙂
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Thanks x
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always so beautiful!
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So kind x
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🙂
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I want you to know that I think your blog is wonderful. The fact that you have chosen to honor your sons memory in this way is priceless. I can feel you surviving through your need to “connect” with him daily. I look forward everyday to reading your blog, to celebrate with you your sons beautiful life. Your love for him shines every day. I feel honored to be able to get a daily glimpse into your life and memories of him. Thank you so much for the raw pure beauty of your heart and grief that you share with us daily.
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Oh my.
Thank you so very much for your wonderful words.
I feel I must write to keep his memory alive, to try and remember all sorts of stories and anecdotes. Happy ones and sad ones too.
It was such an unexpected loss, I just don’t know what else to do at the moment.
Again, thank you for your comments.
x
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I can feel that in your words in each post. Thank you for letting us walk this journey with you!
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A very moving and heartfelt tribute
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Thank you x
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So sweet and so touching. Great memories for you. Enjoy them in your heart.
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Thanks so much x
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What is it about kids and “touching base?” It’s as if they draw the courage they need to live their lives without us by reaffirming their connection to us. In a similar way, I sense you “touching base” with your son when I read your tender blog. The connection you have is deep and powerful.
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Many thanks for your kind thoughts.
And yes, I suppose I am now forever trying to keep in contact, to remain close by, to my son, by writing here.
x
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https://polldaddy.com/js/rating/rating.jsThis is beautiful, as always.
I always loved Winnie the Pooh.
My Dad read this to us every night while young. The longer book, “House at Pooh Corner,” has a child with a page boy haircut and a cloak.
The cloak looked like a dress!
Can you believe my Dad would read it as if the child were, Robin? (Me?) It made me so surprised when I learned to read and the “him, he and his” were made apparently meant to be a boy! 😁 Hope this story made you smile. . .
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That is just so sweet.
Thank you very much for sharing.
x 😄 x
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You’re welcome. I haven’t lost a child so I won’t know this depth of anguish unless it happens. Losing my Dad when he was 69 and grandparents isn’t quite the same. . .
Hope this week’s holds good things ahead for you and your husband. 🙂
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Thank you very much indeed.
x 👼 x
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