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.