Where love is…

When my son, David, was a little boy his two favourite playmates were his grandfathers – Ron McLean and Hillman Wright.

I think this shot of Ron and David was taken by David’s uncle, Andrew, and it remains one of my favourite photos from his toddlerhood.

Even at just a few months old, he seemed to understand that there was something ‘different’ about his other Gramps – he couldn’t see. As he grew older, David was fascinated by the things his Gramps could do – especially telling time with his braille pocket watch.

Quite often they’d both be exhausted after a play time and location didn’t matter when a nap was needed.

David turned 50 in September of this year. I gave him a gift to remind him that, no matter how old he was, he was still my little boy and the mother-son bond could never be broken. Among the other things that I gave him (and the usual sentimental, tear-inducing cards), was a special bracelet that he proudly wore while I was there.

I had no way of knowing that a mere three and a half weeks later he would take his own life, devastating all who cared for him – his parents, his wife and children, his family members and friends – both current and from his childhood and youth.

Now I will wear that bracelet myself – a link to a never-ending bond between us.

The tributes that poured in over the next weeks and months truly touched my heart – memories of childhood adventures, trips taken, and people who played special roles in his life. It has all meant so much to all of us left behind to mourn his passing but also to celebrate his life and the joy he brought to many.

One thing that has helped me get through these endless days has been daily journaling. I’ve documented thoughts and memories of times spent together. I’ve also explored our relationship, wondered how I could have missed the signs that he was in such a dark place while keeping a brave face for the rest of us, and I’ve sobbed – a lot.

If you know, or suspect, that someone you know is struggling with mental health issues or is contemplating self-harm, reach out to them and hold them close. I would not wish this heart-shattering agony on anyone else. It happens far too often and as a society, we are afraid to face it and discuss it. That’s so wrong. We need to understand that mental health is just that – a part of our health and needs to be better understood and treated.

David’s life had great meaning to many. He was creative, devoted in many ways, fiercely independent and adventurous and could light up a room with his smile. That is the man, and the child I bore, that I want to remember and hope that others do too. Celebrate that he lived and keep him in your memory for that is where love lives.

Never forgotten; loved forever.