So in order to go through the life of my son, and maybe why it is all as it is, I must start with his sister.
She was killed on a summers evening before he was born and that is why he was born… and maybe he’s always felt it. She died in her father’s arms as he lifted her up onto his shoulders , just a tiny tiny bit too close of the slowly rotating blade of his just landed helicopter. He never really recovered.
I had two more sons after she died. And Jonny is now the middle of four brothers.
His Father committed suicide on his 16th birthday and for Jonny it’s been downhill all the way.
It started at festivals and then trips to London … I didn’t pay much attention and in reality didn’t believe it would take the path it did … from smoking grass to years of hell and near death. I think the life he’s been leading has been so dark that it would take me a lifetime to understand or even believe.
So finally the rehabs started … always times of peace and hope … peace because he was meant to be safe and hope because of course that’s the cruel game addiction plays with the family.
Seven years of hell … he’s better as I write, although I haven’t seen him for an hour and he’s gone to bed …. I only believe he’s ok when I’m actually holding his hand, every other moment of the day he hangs round my heart. He’s 25 now .. the shadow his addiction has cast over us lingers in a way his father’s death didn’t… I think that because once you’ve felt grief the fear of grief coming again is terrifying. We just want him here … two feet on the ground even if we find his head not quite as we remembered he was. It really almost doesn’t matter anymore. Jonny we just want you with us.