So that’s that then. He’s gone. The house feels very empty today. For 18 years I’ve listened out for him waking, from the early dawn snuffles in his crib to the more recent midday cacophony of multiple media devices. Today I opened the door onto an empty bedroom. The trainers, hoodies and rugby balls were all gone; just the teddy bears, sports certificates and dinosaur books that once meant so much were left behind. On Saturday he went full of excitement, bubbling over with thoughts of all the exciting days to come and I am left behind, suddenly overwhelmed with memories of all the days we’ve had.
Our journey together began on Saturday 21st December 1996. As most of the world was frantically Christmas shopping, I received my best Christmas present ever, my firstborn child. With me was his dad, of course, and soon, waiting apprehensively outside with my mum and dad was my best friend Tess who had been with me through the night along with her husband (our friend and my little one’s godfather, Rick). Here she is, greeting her godson for the first time.
It seems that as you get older there is so much letting go of the people you have loved sometimes for a short time, sometimes forever. Tess died from lupus in 2005, it’s still hard to talk about but in the one conversation we had about the possibility of her not beating her condition, she asked me to make sure she was not forgotten.
So, Theresa Doorley-Whitechurch, you will never be forgotten and here I am today introducing you to the lovely women who read this blog. You would have really enjoyed the conversations we have and you would have been so proud of the godson you loved so much. I wish that you and my mum and dad were still with me now to see how far he’s come from that day when you were all so pleased to greet him.
This has been our journey. Thankfully apart from losing all of you, it’s mostly been filled with love and laughter…
…his first bonfire night…
…his first halloween apple bobbing…
…an early love of colour (although pink is no longer his favourite)…
…meeting his brother for the first time…
…then another brother to complete our band of 3 musketeers…
….always a lover of sport, he’s tried everything…
…and made me join in too …
…we’ve travelled to so many different places…
..and each year he’s been taller…
…and cooler…
…until one year he was suddenly taller than me…
…and the next year he was taller than his dad.
The end of school uniform days came before we knew it…
…and he achieved his dream of playing first team rugby in the sixth form…
…until those dreams were dashed by injury and major surgery…
Mum, this was always your favourite photo of me with my brood, taken on my birthday in 2004…
…so we tried to recreate it exactly 10 years later. Sadly you weren’t here to see it.
He’s always tried his best, winning prizes and awards along the way – you would have been as proud of him as I am.
I know that it’s time for him to spread his wings and I know I’ve been lucky to have him and see him grow. After losing all of you and standing by as my brother and then my sister lost their daughters to leukaemia I know more than most how fortunate I am. But it’s still such a wrench. As a lover of literature Tess, you would quote CS Lewis and his ‘Walking Away’ poem:
“selfhood begins with a walking away,
And love is proved in the letting go.”
And Dad you would say quietly “don’t be sad because it’s gone, be happy that it was.”
So here I am, letting him go with all of my love behind him. And of course he’ll be back, with his washing and his stories. I look forward to the new times ahead.
I can’t tell you how much I wish you’d been able to share the whole journey. I miss you, I miss him. I hope you’re watching and smiling from somewhere…and if you are…. please can you just give him a nudge and tell him to call his mum!
