This week just seems to have rushed by in a blur. And yet, we feel as if we are wading through treacle. It is so, so difficult to face each day.

Our lives are empty. I still keep seeing my son’s face as I turned him over, when I found him lifeless in our bed. I will never forget that image of him.

And yet our younger son and his girlfriend have been of great comfort and superb company; they have organised days out, fed us, and provided endless cups of tea. I don’t know what we would have done without them.

Monday 16 March

The back door bell rings early, and it is one of our neighbours. He wants to express his condolences for the loss of our son. Before he leaves, he asks our permission to say a little prayer. We have not been particularly religious people, but we find so much comfort in his words as we all hold hands

We then go to the funeral director’s with my younger son and his girlfriend, first thing in the morning.

It is really hard for us all.

Our next visit is to the local paper to ask advice about an obituary announcement.

We then go to younger son’s place to have a cup of tea.

And again his girlfriend cooks us lunch.

This time a potato frittata and salad.

We stay there for the rest of the afternoon.

Talking, reflecting, holding one another.

We then visit with my sister and her daughter.

More tea and tears.

Tuesday 17 March

Our son made us go out again today, and we had a good time altogether walking down to Loe Bar, then driving back to Porthleven for some lunch, a long walk around to the pier, then afternoon tea.

We got in just before six. He doesn’t want us in our house, alone. He says it is better to get out, and have some fresh air. He is right.

I don’t know, but first thing in the morning, sadness really sets in.

My husband answered the door this morning and it was a guy from Costa Coffee with our normal order of two cappuccinos, a biscotti each, and a card. Plus a beautiful bouquet from the Methodist Church. This was unbelievably thoughtful and kind. And so made us cry. Again.

A guy from the Checkemlads group is running the Southampton half marathon next month and wanted to know if he could put our son’s name on his t-shirt, on his roll of honour. Remembering those lost to this awful disease. So touching that people care so much.

When we arrive home, our neighbours bring round a huge bouquet of white star lilies. From my cousin in Canada.

Our lounge has so many flowers. The perfume is wonderful.

I tried to phone my mum today just after seven, but she had gone to her room, to bed. Apparently she is being comforted and supported by staff and residents. Which is great.

We will go tomorrow.

Wednesday 18 March

We walk down to the local paper’s offices, to make sure they have the obituary announcement, with a beautiful, happy photo of our son.

We next call in at the florist. It is so hard to talk about our wishes for our son’s coffin. But we just want the very best for him.

We drive out to Lamorna to see my mum, and understandably she is most upset and confused. We stay for an hour, talking and hugging. Becoming tired, she decides she needs to go to her room to rest. These events are really knocking her for six.

Leaving the care home, we drive to the Minack Theatre. We park and walk the coastal path to Porth Chapel, meeting up with son and girlfriend.

It is a glorious day, beautiful scenery, blue sky, watching the swell of the sea crashing on to the beach.

A seal swims and dives, probably scaring away the fish that our son wanted to catch.

Continuing round to Sennen we stop and have a bite to eat.

And then it hits us hard when we come home to an empty house.

Silence.

I begin to look through the thousands of photographs we have of our elder son. I need to gather a selection together for after the funeral.

I cry as I see his face in the many, many places we all visited around the world.

I also order a He Man sword for his coffin pillow.

He was our little He-Man. “I have the power!”

Thursday 19 March

At 8am the coroner’s office ring. Another bad, bad way to start the morning.

Tissue samples from our son’s brain and lungs will be sent away for analysis. Apparently they are small, only the size of a fingernail. It will take between five and seven days for the results to return.

We just seem to be in limbo.

The doorbell rings at 9:45am, I am still in bed. I wash, and get dressed super quick.

It is a friend of ours who has come round and just wants to pay her respects.

She also has a disabled son, and knows how difficult life can get, bringing up a child with such challenging behaviour.

She is unbelievably lovely and says some wonderful things to us.

We were her inspiration.

As a family we never gave up.

We gave our son so much love and care, and fought so hard for his education.

She looked up to us.

Later on we go to see our younger son for tea and sandwiches, and then we all walk out to Porthminster Beach and beyond. It is peaceful, we see many robins, sparrows and spring flowers.

The season is changing, bringing warmth and sunshine.

We retrace our steps, and stop for coffee in a hotel overlooking the ocean. Watching the waves breaking on the rocks below, and two fishing boats that are making their way into the harbour.

Life goes on for everyone and everything around us.

But inside we are torn apart. Tears come easily. Memories are triggered by the slightest thing.

We feel so raw.

Friday 20th March

Today is a partial solar eclipse, and we head down to our son’s for 8:20am to have coffee.

We wait outside for the event, and watch as the moon slowly passes in front of the sun. It didn’t go as dark as I was expecting, but was quite interesting to see.

We then have more coffee and hot cross buns.

We seem to spend endless amounts of time drinking tea and coffee.

On the way home we stop at the Parish church. It is where we were married, and where the boys were both christened.

We light a candle for our darling son.

As my husband lit his, the sleeve of his coat caught in the flame of another candle.

Our son would have thought that highly amusing.

We all go shopping, but not to our usual supermarket. I just can’t face going in there at the moment. Our son was so well known with everyone.

Then yet more tea back at younger son’s place, and finally home to a too quiet house.

The obituary is on the back page of the local paper, along with a beautiful photograph.

Missing him like crazy.

We all are.

Tears are shed again today.

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 Checkemlads.com

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.

xxx

Saturday 14th March

We have both been awake since the early hours.

Every now and again a great wave of sadness washes over us.

My heart breaks to think he will never again bound into our room in the morning, and ask “What are we going to do today? Where are we going?”

The doorbell rings at 9:30am, my husband answers it, and is given a huge, colourful bouquet of flowers.

They are from my brother in Chicago.

Right in the middle of the bouquet is a large yellow sunflower.

The previous Saturday, when we had taken my Mum and son out shopping, she had given him five pounds to buy something for himself.

He came back with the Mother’s Day card for me, and a packet of sunflower seeds.

He said he was going to grow the biggest sunflower ever.

Seeing the yellow sunflower in the middle of my brother’s bouquet just made me sob my heart out.

It was as if he was amongst us still.

A little sign to tell us he was still here.

Our younger son calls, and asks us to spend the day with him. We need to get out of the house, just for a little while, and breathe in some fresh air.

We go to his flat first and have tea, then we drive to the beach at Hayle Towans.

It is bright, cold and windy.

My son and his girlfriend have brought the kites they use for kiteboarding.

We have a good time trying to master the art of holding the harness the makes the kite swoop and sail through the air.

There are very few people about. It is quite peaceful.

Every now and again though, our thoughts come back to our elder son.

Tears stream down our faces, and we hold onto each other tightly.

I try to imagine him up there, looking down upon us.

It just seems so wrong that he can’t be playing here on the sand with us.

He would have had a good time.

Laughing and running through the sand.

We pack up and drive to a restaurant for a late lunch.

It is quiet inside, and we sit at a table away from the few customers that are still eating.

We raise our glasses and remember our special little boy.

Friday 13th March

Empty. Numb. Heartbroken. Lost.

Our son is gone.

The house is quiet.

But everywhere there are reminders of him.

Not least the Get Well cards, 30th Birthday cards, and soon to be joined by the sympathy cards.

Mid-morning there is a knock on the door. It is the postman.

There is a box containing a bouquet of pink and white carnations.

My son had arranged with my mother-in-law to have them sent for Mother’s Day.

A card inside says With Love from him.

This is just unbelievably heartbreaking.

The last thing he did for me.

And here they are, the morning after he went to heaven.

Why him? Why now? Why this ending?

He still had so much to do.

He was planning our summer holiday.

He was thinking of our trip to London to have afternoon tea at the Ritz Hotel, to be followed by a trip to the London Dungeons.

Today was Day 100 of his chemotherapy.

It would have been finished this afternoon.

We were going to celebrate.

He was quite looking forward to visiting the nurses one last time.

But it was not to be.

He didn’t quite make it.

I still see his little face looking up at me.

I still feel his tiny hand clasped in mine.

My son. My child. My baby.

Taken far too soon.

What a massive void he has left behind.

He was so caring, loving, polite, but cheeky too, and a scamp at times.

He had a wicked sense of humour, and delivered some great put-downs!

He is in my heart forever.

An angel in heaven.

Happy, pain free, and watching over us.

I love you so, so much.

To the moon and back.

Love you more.

And all the world.

Sleep tight my darling boy.

xxxxx