Paul's Birthday

We had Paul for a few hours yesterday, Kathy, Claire, Keith and I. It was his sixth birthday the other week but he had been away on holiday so we had a bag of presents for him. One of them was a soldier, one of those jointed dolls, about twelve inches high, very like the Action Man that Hugh used to play with at Paul's age. This one was to scale and came with all sort of  equipment.

 But the important thing was that it was from Hugh.
Hugh had bought it months ago and it had been in among all his stuff that he had stored at Kathy's house, so she had wrapped it up in birthday paper for him.
"This is from Daddy," she said, as she handed it to him. "He bought it for you before he went to Heaven."

Paul said nothing.It's hard to know how much he understands about what has happened and why Hugh isn't around any more. In a way, it probably doesn't seem all that different as he was used to Hugh being away on exercise or on tour all through his life.  But as he played on the climbing frame afterwards with Claire, he was just a normal, happy little boy.

 Today, I bought a box to keep all the things I have of Hugh's in.

Wednesday 30th September

Today, Kathy, Claire and James are having a second meeting at Kathy's house with a representative of the Independent Police Complaints Commission. I have decided not to attend these meetings as I wasn't involved with the phone calls, etc during the night of Hugh's death and I prefer not to have to deal with James and his anger again.
This time they are informed that there were two witnesses who saw and talked to Hugh at 10.30 on the Wednesday night, which means that the original information, that the neighbours heard him go into his house at around midnight, is probably correct after all.
By that time, Kathy, Claire and Hugh's friend had all phoned the police and had suggested that they go to the house to check if he was there, but sadly, they chose not to do this until 8.30 the following morning and told Claire and Sean that if either of them tried to break in, they would be arrested.
I understand that the people who man the phonelines are not police but civilians and I have no idea what sort of training they receive but I doubt if it is to tell callers in this kind of situation, "Leave it to the police, luv, they know what they're doing."
The enquiry is ongoing and I gather that changes to procedure have been put in place as a result of the way Hugh's case was dealt with, but the question is inevitably raised of whether, had the police acted promptly as a result of the phone calls they received, they would have reached Hugh in time.
Probably no-one will ever know and speculating is self-torture. All we can do is continue to deal with the loss of Hugh, one day at a time.

Friday 18th September - Memories and reminders

I am at Kathy's today. I have come to stay overnight and the plan is to go for a long walk out in the wonderful countryside that surrounds Sheffield. Later we go to her friend's for dinner and get back some time after eleven. We sit in the living room nursing a last glass of wine. In the alcove there are now some built in shelves holding videos and and other odds and ends. I remember Kathy telling me that Hugh was to build shelves in both alcoves for her during his time off in August.
"He did those the week before he died," says Kathy and attempts to joke, "I'm quite annoyed that he didn't finish them. We still need some in the other alcove."

It must be all the harder for Kathy, I think. Hugh had been spending a lot of his time off at her house since the break-up and had done quite a few DIY jobs. Reminders of his presence are everywhere. Out in the garden are the raised vegetable and flower beds he had built only a few months ago and, perhaps more poignant, his cigarette butts are still in evidence, scattered around the path.

I look around and everywhere are memories of last Christmas when Keith and I spent a few days there too. Outside and across the road is the park and the surrounding streets where he and I walked early on Boxing Day, before the others were up. I was pleased with myself at being able to keep up with an 'army-fit' young man half my age with only a brief 5 second pause to get my breath as we strode up the steepest road.

Little did I think that this would be the last Christmas we would have with him, but at least I have the memory of a happy few days and that will always stay with me.

Tuesday 8th September

Today we have arranged to meet up at Hugh’s house in Bradford to finish clearing it out. Keith drives me over and we arrive after Kathy and Claire. The house is empty of furniture and is in a sorry state, but we are sorting out the paperwork, ready to hand it over to Hugh’s ex-army friend, Tony, who is the executor of his will. The army have delivered his personal effects from Tidworth today too, mostly clothes. We check the list sent with the boxes and make our own list of the things we have here. Much of it was stored in Kathy’s house as, in the last few months, that was Hugh’s main base.
I stand in the kitchen and look around at the blue units that Hugh had fitted. I recall the Christmas before last when Keith and I spent Boxing Day with Hugh, Debbie and the boys. I remember him, busy in the kitchen, putting the finishing touches to the meal, proudly showing off the newly fitted kitchen. Now, thanks to his ungrateful lodger, the units are damaged, the sink is hanging off the wall and the back door has been damaged and can no longer be opened.
Slowly I climb the stairs to the first floor and then on up to the attic, which had once been the boys’ bedroom. At the top of the stairs are the banisters where Hugh ended his life. The brightly painted shelves in the room seem incongruous, empty except for a couple of Lego bricks, left behind when Debbie and the boys moved out. There are remains of an old mobile phone on the floor. I think of Hugh alone that night in this house, filled with memories of the family life he tried to create when he first bought it. He did try, so hard, but I know, from the little he told me, that he was fighting a losing battle.
I am given his certificates, lots of them, going back to his GCSE results. So many experiences packed into his short life.
Later, we meet up with Paul. He bounds up to us, without any shyness or awkwardness, as if it was days, rather than weeks, since we had last been together and we take him for a meal. He chats about school and football and then sets to work on a puzzle sheet and I am amazed at how quick and bright he is. He is Hugh’s future, this little grandson of mine and I am anxious about how his life will turn out. Kathy, Claire and I will see him as often as we can, but we will be limited in how much influence we can have over his life. We can only hope that he will have the strength of character and motivation to make a good life for himself and to make Hugh proud of him.

Saturday 29th August

Kathy rings to see how I am after yesterday. She gives me news of people I missed and who were sorry to have missed me and suggests that we meet up for lunch one day next week with some of those friends, if possible. Later, Claire rings and says she is on her way over. Although she had told me yesterday that she would be coming, I expected her to be too exhausted for the journey over from Liverpool but she says it will give her something to do and she has some photos of Hugh to give me. There is also a presentation glass tankard which Hugh received a few years ago. We both wonder why he never invited any of us to these occasions or even told us about them. I feel there is so much of his life that I know nothing about.

Friday 28th August. The Funeral

After a restless night, I get up to find that it has been raining. I take Paddy for his walk. As soon as we go out, the rain begins again and continues to drench us. Paddy doesn’t like the rain and, although he is eager for his walk, once out, he hurries me along, anxious to get back indoors. The moment we walk back into the house, completely soaked, the rain stops and the sun comes out. I wonder to myself if it is Hugh having his last joke.

We leave the house before ten o’clock to pick up Giles, Keith’s son, who is coming with us. It is still sunny but chilly and the forecast is for sunshine and showers.

I stare out of the window during the journey, lost in my own thoughts. Keith and Giles say little.

We have arranged to wait in the British Legion care park for the funeral car to collect us but we are early. Eventually, Claire and her partner, Chris arrive. Mark has already arrived to set up the presentation of the photos of Hugh for afterwards. There are lots of people from the army waiting with us, some in uniform and some in their suits. Eventually, those in uniform are dispatched to the church, only 100 yards away. They must be the bearers and the guard of honour. Then the car arrives for us and we set off on the short journey to the church. At the traffic lights, there is a red car waiting in the lane beside us. The young woman driver looks curiously at the cortege. At the front is the hearse, the coffin draped in the union jack and white lilies. On either side are white flowers spelling out his name. We continue to the church and get out of the car. Across the road is the house where we used to live and where the children grew up, in another life, another time.

Although I have promised myself that I can do this with decorum and dignity, the tears well up and will not be stopped. Keith grips my hand harder, fighting his own emotion. I am dimly aware that the church is full but have no idea who is there as we make our way to the front, where the Mass passes in a blur. Claire does her tribute to Hugh and does it beautifully. At the end, his friend, Paul, goes up to do his, choked with emotion as he recalls their friendship.

Then there is the slow journey to the crematorium, through the bright sunshine, past familiar places, some of which have stayed the same and some which have changed beyond recognition in the years since I left this place.

Inside, I look at the coffin, draped with the flag and bearing a cap and a wreath of red poppies. There is a short ceremony during which these are removed and then it is time for the curtains to be drawn across, hiding the coffin from view, hiding my beloved son, Hugh, only he isn’t really there any more, I know. No mother should have to lose her child. It flies in the face of the natural order of life.

Back at the British Legion there is trouble. My younger son, James, has been estranged from me for several years now but he and his family are behind me in the car park. As I turn round, I see Mandy, his wife and speak to her, but as I do so, James pushes between us. To the side is his son, whom I have only seen as a baby, six years ago. As I start to speak to him, James pushes forward and warns me not to speak to his children. Finally, I realise that nothing is going to mend the gulf between us. Today, I have lost two sons.

I am so upset by this that I can’t face going in to the gathering so we go back to our car and begin the journey home. The worst thing is that my memories of today are now tarnished by this incident and that makes me so very angry with James.

Thursday 27th August

My stomach is in knots today. Tomorrow, the day of the funeral, will be difficult and all the more difficult because of family issues. Kathy rings to say that some of the army people are arriving today for a rehearsal in the church at 2 o’clock. Nearly all the preparations are complete now. All we can do is wait for tomorrow.

I take out my black trouser suit and check that we have everything we need.

At 12.15 I go to the hairdressers. It seems incongruous but I want to look my best for Hugh. The hairdresser chats about unimportant things and I respond as if everything is fine. It seems like another me, sitting there in the salon, smiling and looking cheerful.

In the evening, I check Hugh’s Facebook page for an update of tributes from his friends, as I have done every day and the tears come again.

Tuesday 25th August

I had left a message on another friend’s phone yesterday. I know that G lost her brother through suicide years ago, so I want to talk to her rather than leaving a text message to explain why I won’t be able to make the monthly lunch-date with herself and J on Thursday. She sounds very upset and I feel my news must have brought back her own sad memories. Tomorrow, I should have been attending an audition for ‘The Weakest Link’ in Liverpool. I had emailed them to cancel and receive a very understanding  email in reply.
Paddy and I go for another long walk. It looks as if it will be a fine day as I sit in the garden afterwards, drinking my coffee.

Wednesday 26th August

This morning I am awake early and then fall asleep until after 8am, when I get up feeling absolutely exhausted. Claire is to come over for lunch today but has to try and find a photographer in Liverpool who can enlarge a photo of Hugh for display at the funeral. It’s raining. I take Paddy for his walk, not a long one because of the rain. I need to go to the chemist’s for Keith’s prescription and by the time I do that, it is raining hard.

Back home, I sit on the step with my coffee in the rain, watching the raindrops glistening on the grass, which desperately needs cutting. Paddy takes up his usual stance at the window, cat-watching.

Claire rings. She is having trouble tracking down a photographer that can do the enlargement. I search online for her for other places to try. Eventually she finds one but it has taken so long that she won’t now be able to come over.

“I’ll come tomorrow,” she says.

Later, she rings again. She can’t come tomorrow either as she is needed for a rehearsal at the church. The army are coming to rehearse their role too. She has photos of Hugh that she wants to pass on to me. I reassure her that it doesn’t matter. We will see each other on Friday and she can give me the photos then.

My friend, Jean rings from Liverpool. She and I worked together for several years. She tells me of some of my other colleagues who have now been given the news. Hugh helped out in my school for a few months after leaving school and while waiting to go into the army. He showed a real flair for working with children. Had things been different, he could have been a brilliant teacher one day.

The rain stops and the sun comes out in the late afternoon. I should be getting dinner ready but I don’t feel hungry and I don’t think Keith does either.

Kathy rings to tell me about the family flowers, white flowers spelling out his name and an arrangement of white lilies. She says that he can be viewed at the undertakers’ from mid-day today and that now he is in his uniform but I don’t feel I want to go. I saw him on Thursday and I have my own image of him in my mind.

Today it has sunk in that Hugh was mentally ill. He had chronic depression, which he wouldn’t get help for and I believe he has never recovered from the post traumatic stress disorder he suffered from eleven years ago after his tour in Kosovo. He did have some psychological help at the time but discharged himself after a couple of sessions. I know it’s a ‘man thing’ to regard psychological support and counselling as a weakness and it’s probably an ‘army thing’ too in spite of the official line. In some way, this helps me understand a bit better but it doesn’t make it any easier.

Monday August 24th

Today, I begin to send texts to my clients, cancelling their sessions. I tell them that, due to a ‘family emergency’ I shall not be able to see them for now. I feel angry that I have to do this. This is part of my livelihood, but, more importantly, it is work that I enjoy doing and I feel that I want to continue helping these people as I can no longer help Hugh. I recognise that this is my need, rather than that of my clients.

On the phone, Kathy is still brisk and business-like but I am relieved when she tells me that, after all this is over, she will be taking a couple of weeks off work. I think it will hit her hard once she is no longer busy organising everything.

Claire has learned that the police have visited Debbie and that she has now broken the news to Paul. She has told him that Daddy was very ill and is now in Heaven. Paul was sitting in the corner holding the mobile phone that Hugh had bought him in order to keep in touch with him. When the WPC asked him what he was doing, he replied that he was ‘waiting for Daddy to ring from Heaven.’

Debbie has been advised not to come to the funeral. I have mixed feelings about this. We need to keep in contact with her as she is the mother of Hugh’s child but I have no wish to see her. She has caused Hugh such enormous problems and upset and I wish with all my heart that he had never set eyes on her.

Claire has gone back to Hugh’s house today and is talking to me on the phone as she sifts through some of his belongings. When Debbie left, Hugh was persuaded to rent the house to her cousin, who repaid the favour by dealing drugs from there. When he discovered this and evicted her, she made sure she trashed the house before leaving, leaving him with an uninhabitable house which he couldn’t re-let and so couldn’t pay the mortgage on. It is now about to be repossessed.

Sunday August 23rd

The alarm goes off at 4am for Keith to get ready for his usual Sunday morning job but I have been awake since 3 o’clock. Keith is exhausted. Last night he complained of a stomach upset but now he says he is a bit better. He goes off, very subdued and I go back to bed, worrying about him. He is a tower of support for me but I worry that all this is taking its toll on him too. At seven o’clock, I still can’t sleep so I get up and get ready to take Paddy for a long, much-deserved walk. It’s peaceful and I feel better for getting out in the fresh air.

I am amazed at how the time flies by, unnoticed by me, absorbed as I am by my own thoughts.

Kathy has asked me to look for some photos of Hugh growing up as she wants to do a presentation of photos to be shown in the background at the refreshments after the funeral. I root out all my photo albums and begin the search. I remember that, after Hugh’s birth, my camera broke so I have very few photos of him as a baby but, as I flick through the albums, I relive his childhood, remembering long-forgotten incidents. He was never an easy child, very intelligent but also strong willed and we had many clashes.
Kathy has also asked me to choose some  readings for the Mass and I find it comforting to do this. I email it all to her.