It passes in a flash these days, those 11 days between a birthday trip out and these minutes, when I was holding him in my arms and watching him drift away forever. 11 nights of candles, 11 days of quietly mulling over what was happening each day and where we were in that beautiful, hellish journey locked inside the walls of scbu.
I still can’t walk into a hot room without panicking, I still can’t listen to a repeated beep, even a long narrow bathroom makes my heart thud.
But 6 years ago I was holding him in my arms for the last time, accepting he didn’t want to fight, walking to a quiet, sunny room to spend some previous minutes. The only time I held him and walked.
People used to say, ‘at least you didn’t have him for long enough to really know and love him.’ They don’t say it any more, thank goodness. 11 days is more than long enough for that. It’s just not long enough for everything else that should have been.
We still miss you, Freddie. I wish you were 6. Fly high, little boy.