It's now been a year since I last saw, held and kissed Lennon. At first I was scared of that dreaded 10th July, but then I realised that my heart already broke this time last year, and even though it kept on beating - it remains broken. So I don't have to be scared anymore. 

Instead I found it soothing to have people remember our Lennon on that tragic day and I really cared about other people caring. Thank you.

When I first started writing this blog I wondered whether time could be some kind of healer. And given that it's been a year I have been asked occasionally whether our loss has become easier to deal with, or whether am I feeling any better. Well, ....

An outsider might say that our life seems quite normal again. I gave birth to my third beautiful child Brodie, Bessie is being an amazing little girl and we do everyday things such as visiting a playground, sitting in a restaurant, meeting friends, even going on holiday. But the truth is that I also cry every single day, I visit his memory stone and am shocked to read his name and I am in complete despair realising that the photos I look at are the only ones I will ever have. But worst of all are the images and the feelings from that awful day that I relive day in and day out. They seem to be forever burned into my memory and they are so brutal that they would take anyone’s breath away.

How could seeing and revisiting those pictures ever become any less painful?

How could this ever heal?

Losing Lennon can't be compared to a wound, which would have the chance to scar over and eventually heal. Losing a child is more like an amputation, like losing a limb. (Although given the choice I would have given both legs and arms, even my life, if that would have meant that Lennon could still be here. But I wasn't given that option.)

Assuming someone loses a leg, would we expect this person to ever walk like he used to? The best one could hope for is that this person may learn how to walk again - but never to walk as fast as before.

I am quite certain that I too would admire the person that would continue to face life full front instead of indulging in self pity.

So that is what I am trying to do. I am forcing myself each day at a time to make it a worthwhile day for Bessie and Brodie. But it's not easy and it seems like a pretty thin line that I am walking on, as my heartache remains a constant companion.

So is time a healer? I am afraid I have to say "no". Instead I assume time is a teacher. Losing my son is not like a wound that will ever heal  -  all I can hope for is that I learn each day how to cope with losing this vital invisible limb that was more important to me than my legs and arms. 

Lennon - I love and miss you. Yesterday, today and tomorrow.

I noticed that music has become so powerful in triggering and taking control of my feelings, that I avoid to listen to songs when I am at home alone. I tend to prefer complete silence.

One song that - when played on the radio - completely overwhelms me and that makes me break down in tears is a song called Helele by Safri Duo & Velile. It was one of those world cup hits last summer. And when I hear it I travel back in time to the Wednesday before the accident. Germany played Spain in the semi final and even though people had asked me to come and watch the game with them, I decided to stay home with Lennon and Bessie and spend the evening with my precious kids. Bessie went to bed even before the game started. Lennon and I were both wearing our football outfits, I was drinking wine, he was eating pizza, we played with his cars on the carpets and then he just cuddled up and fell asleep in my arms while Germany lost the game. When the game finished this song was performed on TV and I picked up Lennon and I remember so clearly how lucky I felt to have this amazing son and thought that I would never have to feel lonely as we were so connected and had so much fun together, whatever we did.  With Lennon in my arms I moved along to the song and felt so content and fulfilled.
And hearing this song I remember the moment and my feelings of happiness so clearly, but my heart breaks because I know that this moment is gone forever. And instead there is a part of my heart that will forever be lonely, that part that loved Lennon and will continue to for at long as it beats.

And crying can be so exhausting, so I tend to avoid situations that will take out even more energy. It's only when I drive in our car that I turn on the radio, so more often than not I arrive at my destination with watery eyes. Meaningful songs about love and loss bring out the tears anyway. Yet it is also the happy songs that remind me of how happy-go-lucky I once was and how easy life really seemed to be that crush my heart. It's hard to accept that our life changed so quickly and so drastically and that I have to continue knowing I lost something so special.

In a way I am grateful to those beautiful songs for reminding me of all the special times and moments, yet sometimes I simply don't feel I am strong enough to put myself into a situation whereby emotions take control of me and I cannot hold back the tears.

Recently I have been taking part at a bereaved parents meeting, an event I would have never ever wanted to visit - and I guess neither did any of the other participants. Listening to others, who experienced the loss of a child, doesn't really bring me comfort, but at least I realised that I am not the only parent to have experienced such tragedy and that there are others who are feeling the same kind of pain.

I also had to realise though that the wounds in our hearts will never heal. For most participants it had been two, three year, or even more years, yet they still missed their children just as much. I suppose everybody deals with it, because there is no alternative and gets on with each day, but let's face it, our hearts are scarred for life.

Some naive part of me was hoping that in this meeting someone would reveal that this is the worst ever practical joke played on us, and that in reality our children are still alive - or that someone would give me the key to unlock time-travel, - or  at least give me some sort of convincing evidence that our children are really still here with us, even if only in spirit. I don't even know if this would in any way make the loss easier to cope with, yet I am longing to find proof that I will see Lennon again one day. I am so desperate that I have read anything that has come my way, starting from near-death experiences, mediums and fate to as complex issues as metaphysics and relativity theory. There can only be one truth, either there is something - or not. But as I am not the first person to pose these questions I kind of think it is unlikely that I will be the one to unlock the secret of life after death.

Some might think that it doesn't matter to find an answer, yet to me it does. I only ever manage to get through each day at a time. I can accept not seeing Lennon today, but I cannot accept not being able to see him tomorrow, or never. So if I found proof that there is another dimension and he is there, I would at least be comforted by knowing that one day will be that tomorrow and I will be reunited with the child that I love beyond anything, whose little feet I long for to tickle and whose hair I long for to smell.