It's only one month to Christmas and I am dreading having to face the build-up to it, the romantic atmosphere, the day itself. Part of me tries to foolishly convince myself that it's just another painful day without him. Yet Christmas was always a special family time for me and when Lennon came into our lives, the magic - somehow lost when you are an adult - also returned to Christmas. We finally could make up stories of Santa Claus, even though Lennon wasn't a fan of him at all. In fact he was petrified whenever he spotted a man with a beard, ever since coming face to face with Santa at nursery.

This time last year Lennon, Bessie, Jeremy and I were baking Christmas cookies, decorating the house with angels and reindeer and admiring the Christmas lights all around Edinburgh. This year I look outside the window and see the first snowflakes slowly falling and I just want to run out there into the cold and scream for someone to turn back the time. I don't want time to move on without my son. It feels so unfair that we wont be able to see his wish list grow from a Bob the Builder crane, to a bicycle, to a Nintendo. That's what kids are supposed to do, why can't our son?

Last year his eyes lit up when he opened his presents - a white matchbox Porsche car, a police helmet, a scooter. I already had plans of what we would get him this year and imagined his smile when he would unwrap it. It may be irrational, silly and even desperate, but I will still put a present for him underneath the tree. But my heart is aching already to imagine that his present will remain wrapped.