A Mother's Story

Anger

2012-02-14T12:11:00.000Z

This photo was taken yesterday at the end of our day with Paul and Nathan. As you can see, Nathan is not keen on having his photo taken!

Afterwards, Claire took them home and had a worrying conversation with their mum. It seems that Paul has been in trouble at school recently. After Paul's death, he obviously went through a tough time but the staff at his school were made aware of what had happened and he got support in the form of counselling, although he didn't take to his counsellor. Since he moved up to his new class in September, it seems that his new teacher was unaware of his history and his anger has been getting him into trouble. His mother and the school have since worked together and he now has a mentor and can have time out to diffuse the situation when things get fraught.

Paul knows only that his dad was ill and died. Whether he will ever know the details is a debate for the future, but it is clear that Hugh's death is casting long shadows.

At present, my anger is directed at the school. Moving Paul up to a new class, without making the new teacher aware of his situation is inexcusable - and that's my polite description!

In the genes

2011-11-17T17:00:00.001Z

Working on my family tree, as I have been over the last few months, I have found myself focusing on my paternal great grandfather's family. Charles (Frederick or Ernest- take your pick) Perkins, who joined the army as soon as he could and, once there, proceeded to find himself in constant trouble for drink-related issues. Eventually, the penny dropped that maybe he wasn't acting in his best interests and could do with calming down a bit and toeing the line, which he did and emerged twenty one years later at sergeant rank.

Ever since I can remember, Hugh wanted to join the army. He could have had a place in Wellbeck College, the army's sixth form college, and gone from there to Sandhurst, but he decided against that. He was very intelligent and well read but had had enough of school, which was, perhaps, somewhat short-sighted as he didn't suffer fools gladly and sometimes found himself in frustrating situations where, as an officer, he could have had more influence.
I somehow think that Charles and Hugh would have got on pretty well.

Seeing Paul

2011-10-27T14:49:00.001+01:00

Eight years old now, getting taller every time we see him and already developing the same dry sense of humour as Hugh.

Birthday

2011-08-28T10:02:00.000+01:00

Today would be Hugh's thirty second birthday. Paddy and I went for a long walk to think and to remember.

Second anniversary

2011-08-19T12:19:00.000+01:00

People say you need two years to 'get over' the death of someone close to you. Today is the second anniversary of Hugh's death, or maybe it's tomorrow. As he died in the night, we don't really know for sure but two years ago today, he was certainly suffering and events were building up to that dreadful night.

This is the time when all the what ifs, maybes, coulds and shoulds come back to the fore, with no more satisfactory answers now as there were two years ago.

Flowers have been sent by people who care and I know their intentions are good but I want to shout, "I don't want flowers, I want Hugh not to be dead!"

I want to feel comforted that at least he has escaped his problems but the reality is that I wish he had stayed to face them, so that he would still be here with us.

And no, two years is not enough. It takes a lifetime and then some.

Thank you

2011-08-15T18:05:00.000+01:00

This is the bouquet which arrived at my house this morning. It was sent by someone whom I have never met but whom I count as a friend through the blog world. I don't think he would want to be publicly identified, but I am touched by his thoughtfulness and support in this difficult week, the week of the second anniversary of Hugh's death. Knowing that others are thinking of him, even someone who never met him, means a lot.

Father's Day

2011-06-19T15:50:00.001+01:00

Today being Fathers' Day, my thoughts naturally turn to Hugh as a father. During one of the rough patches in his relationship with Paul's mother, when Paul was a toddler, he had gone to stay with friends in Birkenhead and I collected him and Paul to spend a day with us. For some reason, it's a day which has always stuck in my mind and I have spent the last two hours searching fruitlessly for the other photos which I know I took of Hugh and Paul at the playground across the field. Sadly, there is no trace of them and I can only think that they were among the photos I lost when my laptop was stolen in France.

But I did find this one, taken the Christmas after Hugh and Paul's mother had split up.
So many unspoken thoughts.....

Teaching

2010-11-26T16:32:00.000Z

Michael Gove's recent announcement about recruiting former armed forces personnel into teaching reminded me of Hugh's foray into the world of education before he went into the army. He had wanted to join the army for as long as I could remember but, having an August birthday meant that he had six months to wait between leaving school and signing up. Although academically more than capable of doing 'A' levels, he refused to go into the sixth form so, insisting that he should do something useful for those six months, I persuaded him to come into the school where I was working to help out on a voluntary basis.
In fact, it turned out to be a very successful move and one which, I think, he enjoyed more than he expected. The junior school pupils loved him, particularly the Year 6 boys, who probably looked on him as a bit of a role model. He tolerated no nonsense from them but was patient when necessary and was able to make good use of his artistic talents and proved able to coax even the least confident children to give of their best. Three years later, when my seven year olds had graduated to Year Six, they still asked about him.
All this sounds like a glowing reference and, obviously, it is biased as it is written by his mother, but I'm sure that he could have become a fantastic teacher, had he chosen to and he could certainly have been a suitable candidate for Michael Gove's initiative.

IPCC report made public

2010-11-06T10:35:00.000Z

The IPCC report on how the police dealt with things on the night of Hugh's death has been made public this week and the Bradford Telegraph and Argos have this to say. From our point of view, things were not handled well and that contributed to an already heartbreaking time, but if lessons have indeed been learnt and new procedures put into place, then at least that is a positive outcome for those needing police intervention in similar situations in the future.

Field of Remembrance

2010-10-30T10:28:00.000+01:00

This week, I have dedicated a cross to Hugh on the Royal British Legion Field of Remembrance. Every year, in November, this is established in London and in Cardiff and this year there will be an extra one in Wootton Bassett. Although Hugh didn't die for his country, he gave nearly half his life to the army and I feel he has a right to be there and to be one of those remembered for their service.

The Inquest Report

2010-10-17T19:43:00.001+01:00

Sitting through the inquest was painful enough, as we had expected, but there were also reporters present from the Bradford Telegraph and Argos. We were told they had a right to be there but we would really have preferred that they didn't. The following day, Claire rang me to say that the report was on the paper's online website and in the paper too, of course.
This is it, but the headline was "Depressed soldier killed himself in fear of Afghanistan tour" which we were not at all happy about as it had been made quite clear by the evidence of his friends who had spoken to him that evening that it was his personal problems that had been the last straw for him. So Claire and I both rang the newspaper to complain and to point out that Hugh had seen action, not only in Bosnia and Kosovo, but also three times in Iraq and furthermore, had volunteered for Aghanistan and for the bomb detection training.
At first we had little joy, but finally we were able, separately, to speak to the deputy editor, who seemed a little more sympathetic and agreed to change the leadline on the website and publish an apology, which he did:

Corporal Hugh Cunningham

"In a report in Wednesday’s Telegraph & Argus regarding an inquest into the death of Corporal Hugh Cunningham we stated in a headline “Soldier took own life in fear of Afghan tour”. The family of Cpl Cunningham have asked us to point out that while the coroner acknowledged Cpl Cunningham was said not to be looking forward to serving in Afghanistan, there was a good deal of evidence to suggest that factors in his personal life and depression stemming from post traumatic stress disorder diagnosed after his service in Kosovo were predominant factors in the decision to take his own life. We apologise to Cpl Cunningham’s family if our headline caused them any distress or embarrassment."
Only a fool would be going into a situation like Afghanistan without some degree of trepidation, but that is a long way from the implication of that headline, so I feel that at least we were able to lessen the damage to some extent and that gives us some small degree of comfort.

The Inquest

2010-10-14T20:08:00.001+01:00

We finally got the date for Hugh's inquest and on Tuesday morning, we set off for Bradford, Keith and I and met up with Kathy and Claire. James had decided not to attend but some of Hugh's friends were there and two of them were called to give evidence. These were friends who had been with him earlier on the fateful night; one of them had raised the alarm with the police, only to have them burst in on him in his own flat the following morning, having still not been to Hugh's house, announcing that they were looking for Hugh, whereupon, he had to remind them that he was the one who had phoned them the night before, to raise the alarm. Yes, I am still very angry that the police did not act on the phone calls they received that night and also that the IPCC report did not apportion any blame to them.
It was, as expected, a harrowing experience, being at that inquest. We were spared the worst of the details but I still felt as if I were reliving those terrible days fourteen months ago. A police sergeant was the only policeman called to give evidence. He only came on duty the following morning, so had not been involved in the events of the night before and I wondered why none of the night staff had been called. He said that two of his officers had (finally) gone to Hugh's house, decided that, yes indeed, something was wrong, and had rung him to ask if they could break in. Nothing like police programmes on TV, it seems. They then had to wait for a response unit with a battering ram and someone with a headcam so that the entry could be filmed. Heaven help anyone inside a locked house who needs help urgently, there would be no chance for them.

But of course, for Hugh, time no longer mattered.
The coroner found that he had taken his own life whilst the balance of his mind was disturbed.
We went out into the cold of Bradford city and the chaos of building works.
One of Hugh's friends told me that he wanted me to know how proud he was to have known Hugh and to have been his friend.

In memory of Hugh

2010-08-29T10:26:00.001+01:00

We were invited by Paul's mother, Debbie, to a short gathering in Northcliffe Park, Shipley yesterday. It would have been Hugh's 31st birthday and she wanted to mark the occasion for Paul. She had arranged to have a small tree planted with a plaque and planned to let off some balloons and make it a celebration of Hugh's life which would be meaningful for Paul.

Keith and I and Claire were able to go and just after midday, we set off up a path to the highest point of the park, where the tree and plaque were already in place. Debbie had organised a local pastor to say a few words before the balloons were let off.

The whole thing only took about half an hour, but during that time, the sun was out and the sky was blue in places. Paul was brilliant. He accepted that this was Daddy's birthday celebration and loved letting the balloons off. Unfortunately, I wasn't able to sort out my phone camera quickly enough to capture the sight of the balloons drifting into the distance, but only got a photo of the view from that spot.

As Claire said afterwards, Hugh would appreciate it and the white butterfly that we always see on these occasions was fluttering around the tree.

Birthdays

2010-08-22T17:33:00.000+01:00

Yesteday was my birthday. Now I am exactly twice the age Hugh would have been this year. I haven't been greatly enamoured of these yearly events since hitting fifty but now, coming as it does only two days after Hugh's anniversary, it is a day to be got through somehow or other. This year, we had a weekend away and it worked to some extent. The relaxed atmosphere and complete change of scenery helped and I managed to get through the whole day with barely a mention. Truth to tell, I am not really sure why I found it such an ordeal, except, of course, that it is part of these awful few weeks, leading up to Hugh's own birthday on 28th, which was also the day of his funeral.
It's a low point and the only way to deal with it is to take it one day at a time and remember that it won't last for ever. But it will all jump out to bite us from time to time and, while that will gradually get easier to cope with, it will never go away completely.

The anniversary

2010-08-19T22:12:00.000+01:00

Today is the anniversary of Hugh's death. Kathy came over yesterday and stayed overnight. We had an Indian takeaway and rather too much wine, which meant that today I have been in a somewhat 'delicate' state, but it was worth it. We had a good evening in memory of Hugh. Claire came today and tonight, she and Kathy planned to meet up in Liverpool with their and Hugh's friends.
Kathy brought the report from the IPCC (at last).
The events of the fateful night last year are here and I have very clear memories of the attitude of the police when we were at the police station in Bradford the following day. They were very apologetic, comments were made about the certainty that people would be disciplined over the way the whole thing was handled and we got instant access to very senior officers who even offered to arrange overnight hotel accommodation for us at their expense, something which I wouldn't imagine is routinely offered to everyone. But the result of the year-long investigation is a whitewash. No one has been criticised over the lack of action, even though mention is twice made of referrals being sent to the wrong people. Kathy was told that, unfortunately, when she contacted the police, she didn't actually mention the word 'suicide'. If she had, that would have put it on the highest priority. Oh well, now we know.
I don't imagine there is anything we can do about the report but now we have to wait again - first for the CID to do their report on what led up to Hugh's suicide and then for the inquest - probably another twelve months.

This is the week

2010-08-15T13:56:00.000+01:00

Someone told me recently that the anticipation of the anniversary is worse than the day itself when it arrives. This may be true; I won't know until Thursday which will be the first anniversary of Hugh's death but these days leading up to it certainly bring their own difficulty. I often tell my clients about the recognised stages of grief and explain that we don't tend to experience them in a neat order, rather we 'take the scenic route' and move back and forth between them and so recently, I have been a times consumed with guilt as I think back to August 19th last year.
The guilt is for not being there for him when it mattered, for not realising how much he was suffering, for not being able to make things right as I could have done when he was a small child. It makes no difference that I know I couldn't know what was going on in his mind and that, in the end, he didn't allow anyone to help him on that final night.
I guess what really hurts is that he didn't turn to me when it really mattered.

Together again

2010-07-26T19:20:00.001+01:00

Yesterday saw Kathy, Claire, Keith and I meeting up with Paul and his brother, Nathan, this time for a trip to Diggerland not far from Bradford. This place is probably Heaven on earth for many dads, as they and their children get to drive tractors, earth movers and excavators, both mini and full sized, to their hearts' content. As you can see here from this photo of Paul, it takes a lot of concentration!

Then there was this wonderful contraption which whizzed them round and round, up and down, before gently depositing them back on terra firma.

Afterwards, they said they had had the best day out ever.

Passing time

2010-07-24T09:28:00.000+01:00

It's now late July so the anniversary of Hugh's death is looming large, in real time and in my thoughts. I don't yet know what we will do but it will inevitably be a painful time. In addition, we still have not had the inquest and are told that it could be another year before that happens. West Yorkshire is apparently very short of coroners and so have a very long waiting list but that doesn't make it any easier for those of us who are looking for 'closure' as the Americans say. I feel as if the inquest is hanging over us like the sword of Damacles, as it will surely stir up all the original pain and emotions again.
But tomorrow, we are going to see Paul again, so that will be a good day.

Armed Forces Day

2010-06-26T20:19:00.000+01:00

Today was Armed Forces Day when there is an opportunity to spare a thought for all those serving in our Air Force, Navy and, of course, the Army. Younger daughter was on the phone yesterday and mentioned the fact that Hugh would have been coming home from his tour in Afghanistan about now. There have been times, since he died, when I have gained some comfort from the fact that he didn't make it to that tour of duty, mostly when there has been news of yet more of our soldiers killed or wounded out there. Hugh had recently trained in bomb detection and that would have been his role out there.
Today has been for remembering and appreciating all those in the armed forces, regardless of how we feel about the war they are fighting at present. Politicians make their decisions, which impact on so many innocent personnel and their families and which are by no means always the right ones, but that does not detract from the sterling work and bravery of the men and women out there doing their job.
Hugh had played his part in Bosnia, Kosovo and Iraq and those years had taken their toll on his mental health. He is always present in my mind but especially today. How I would love to be welcoming him home from this tour.

Mother's Day

2010-03-14T16:38:00.000Z

Mother's Day was bound to strengthen memories of Hugh and so it did. I keep remembering past years when I would perhaps receive cards, sometimes flowers, but always a phone call or text message, unless he was on tour and just wasn't able to. All his phone calls would end with 'Love you, Mum' and I still often 'hear' that in my head and it still feels so real.
"I know Hugh will be with you today," my younger daughter had written in my card so he was very much on my mind when the phone rang this morning. I picked it up, thinking it might be one of my daughters.
"Hi'" said a male voice at the other end. Just for the merest split second, Hugh flashed into my head. But of course it wasn't.
"Oh, sorry, I seem to have the wrong number," said the voice.
"It seems you have," I said, and he ended the call with an apology.

Like father, like son

2010-02-28T13:35:00.000Z

We met up with Paul again a couple of weeks ago and I was struck once more by the mannerisms, facial expressions and attitudes which remind me of Hugh. We were taking him and his older brother, Nathan to the cinema this time, but Keith and I had parked in a very muddy, puddle-filled open air car park and after lunch, Paul and I went for a short wander past the car park into Exchange Square to have a closer look at this. This link will show you a clearer photo of this beautiful and unusual sculpture by Welsh artist Amber Hiscott, to be found close to the Law Courts. Perhaps unusually for a six year old, Paul was very interested in this work of art and insisted on going up to have a closer look and even standing inside in order to see the effect of the coloured glass panels. The sculpture is a homage to Delius, who was born in Bradford, but Paul just knew that his teacher had told his class about this sculpture and now he could tell her that he had seen it.
Afterwards, we had a short discussion about the coat of arms above the entrance to the Law Courts and I explained to him something of what happens in a court.
"If someone steals my car when I'm grown up," he said, "I'll send them to court and they'll go to prison for a decade." A little optimistic, maybe, but when questioned, he was able to tell me what a decade meant.
Going out of the car park, he resisted my attempts to persuade him to hold my hand in case of traffic.
"I am six, you know," he said, "I'm not a baby!"
Definitely his father's son in so many ways.

The first Christmas

2009-12-29T16:39:00.001Z

After you have lost someone, they say that the first anniversaries that come round during the first twelve months are the worst. I'm not sure if that's true. Maybe things gradually get less painful and poignant but life is never quite the same again, however much easier it becomes to live the daily routine.
Last Christmas was spent at Kathy's, with her and Mark, then Claire and Chris came over from Chris's parents' home in the afternoon. This year we did the same, the difference being, of course, that last year Hugh had been staying at Kathy's too. It wasn't a good time for him. His and Debbie's relationship had recently come to an end and he was already having problems gaining access to Paul. He was suffering then and it didn't get any better over the following months.
Claire, Keith and I went to see Paul on Boxing Day. We saw him and Nathan, his half-brother, for half an hour to give them their presents. This time, we went to their home. I wasn't looking forward to seeing Debbie. I hadn't seen her at all since she and Hugh split up, apart from a couple of brief glimpses in the car when she had dropped Paul off to see Hugh.
I imagine she was feeling awkward too. I didn't talk to her much. What I really wanted to know was how she is feeling now about Hugh and the whole acrimonious ending of their relationship. Part of me wanted to tell her not to blame herself for his death, if indeed she does. That decision was made by Hugh and must be his responsibility, but more than anything, I wanted her to know that she does bear responsibility for manipulating him and taking advantage of his feelings and that is something that will stay with her for the rest of her life.
I want her to understand that it is not all-right to play with other people's lives.
But of course, I didn't say anything of this.
We walked out into the icy road and I said good-bye to Claire. I heard a tap on the window. It was Nathan waving to us.

Paul's Birthday

2009-10-31T13:04:00.002Z

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

2009-10-01T08:09:00.002+01:00

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

2009-09-19T21:39:00.000+01:00

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

2009-09-11T22:00:00.003+01:00

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

2009-09-08T09:37:00.000+01:00

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

2009-09-07T10:14:00.001+01:00

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

2009-09-06T10:19:00.000+01:00

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

2009-09-05T06:54:00.001+01:00

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

2009-09-04T12:08:00.002+01:00

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

2009-09-03T08:32:00.001+01:00

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.

Saturday August 22nd

2009-09-02T09:11:00.000+01:00

A lovely sunny day and all I can think is that Hugh is missing it. Paddy still doesn’t get his walk.

I email various people and get emails back, all telling of their shock and condolences. Keith has a job to go to but doesn’t want to leave me alone. I reassure him that I will be fine. I do still feel OK after my counselling session yesterday but I worry about this. I know I am not in denial as I can accept that what has happened has happened. There are more phone calls between myself and my daughters. It seems pretty certain that the funeral can be on Friday.
A major from the army calls to see us and offer condolences and any help we may need.
Kathy reports that her father has tried to stipulate that I am to come to the funeral without Keith, which she told him is not going to happen. I am left wondering how he and James can possibly keep up stupid feuds in the face of this calamity which has hit us all like a brick.

Friday August 21st

2009-08-31T20:28:00.001+01:00

I get up after a sleepless night. I catch sight of Hugh’s watch on the dressing table and the tears come again. After yesterday, I thought there couldn’t be any left, but of course there are.

Today passes in a haze. From time to time there are phone calls from Kathy, Claire, Dad and information begins to feed in. Before going to Liverpool, Claire and Chris had gone to Hugh’s house. She reports that it felt very peaceful and the visit seems to have comforted her a little. Some of Hugh’s belongings are still in the house. When they look, they find the boxes his medals were kept in. The boxes are empty. When Kathy meets with the army captain, he says they can be replaced. She knows that Hugh wanted them to go to Paul, his six year old son.

Keith is quiet, keeping a close eye on me. He alternates between being upset and being angry.

“How could he do something like this, ruining so many people’s lives? He had so much to live for.”

There are no answers. Probably there never will be but we try to make sense of the incomprehensible. We are pretty sure that the acrimonious break up of the relationship with the mother of his son is the main cause but he also had a huge amount of debt and a tremendous foreboding about his approaching tour in Afghanistan.

The post mortem is today. They find that he did die from hanging. There had been uncertainty over this as one foot was on one of the stairs and there was a possibility that, due to the level of alcohol, he had stumbled and been asphyxiated.

By two o’clock in the afternoon, I am still in my dressing gown and Paddy, has not been walked. From time to time, he lays his head on each of our laps in turn before retreating to curl up on his chair. He senses that all is not well. Even his cat-watching through the window lacks his usual energy.

By the end of the day, there is talk of the funeral being held on Friday 28th, which would have been Hugh’s 30th birthday. I am comforted by this thought and hope that this will indeed be the case.

It’s my birthday today. No-one remembers until later in the day, but that’s all-right. As I have got older, I have elected to pay little attention to the passing of the years, so birthdays have been low key. Today, I realise that all my future birthdays will be sad.

I ring the counsellor that I used to see for my personal therapy during my training and book an appointment for 3.15pm. I can talk to Keith of course, but he is hurting too. In my counselling session I can go through it all again and it helps tremendously.

I feel so much better that I tell myself I can see my own clients as normal next week. I know this is not the case and that I must not see clients at the moment but it is a way of clinging to the normal, everyday life which is outside this nightmare. I can’t face cancelling my appointments yet.

My friend calls in the evening with flowers and a card for my birthday. I haven’t told her. On Wednesday I was at the hospital with her as she had her pre-operation assessment for the breast cancer operation she is to have, also next Friday. She realises something is wrong and I tell her the sad news. I was to go to hospital again with her on Monday morning but she assures me she can call on another friend instead. I put the flowers in water and leave them on the dining table.

Thursday August 20th

2009-08-30T12:10:00.001+01:00

It’s nearly half past ten in the morning and I am in my counselling room with a client. Although I am focussing on him, I am suddenly dimly aware of the curtain behind the doors leading into the rest of the house being drawn slightly apart by Keith. He is standing there, phone in hand, staring at me as if willing me to interrupt my session and come to the doors. I am conscious of a slight irritation, followed by a frisson of anxiety. He knows that the counselling session is sacrosanct and I am never to be disturbed during it, so what is he thinking of? I deliberately turn my head away and focus once more on my client for the remaining twenty minutes of the session.
In hindsight, it’s a good thing I didn’t interrupt the session. When I have seen my client out, I go through the dining room into the living room. “I’m sorry, you know I can’t interrupt a counselling session,” I start to say, but he interrupts me.
“You have to brace yourself,” he says. What is he talking about? What can possibly have happened that’s so bad?
“Hugh’s killed himself,” he says quickly.
And so the nightmare begins.
No answers, little detail, few facts. A feeling of disbelief but tucked into a tiny corner of my mind, a certain lack of surprise. Maybe this is because I had had a bad feeling about his forthcoming tour in Afghanistan but this isn’t news of him being killed out there. This is about him taking his own life. A flood of questions. Why? How? What could possibly lead to him being in such a frame of mind that he would see this as a solution?
Keith fills me in with what he has just learned from my elder daughter, Kathy.
At about 8.30 last night, Kathy, in Sheffield, her sister Claire, in Newcastle and Hugh’s friend, Sean, in Bradford, see a worrying comment posted by Hugh on Facebook. It thanks everyone for the good times and tells Debbie, his ex-fiance that he is ‘doing this for you.’ Kathy tries to talk to him on his mobile, but he cuts the call and from then on, none of them can contact him. At that time, they don’t know where in Bradford he is; possibly at any of three addresses they have for Debbie, possibly at his now empty house. At various times during the night, they ring the police to ask them to check out these addresses but for whatever reasons, the police don’t break into Hugh’s house until 8.30 on Thursday morning.
By then, it’s far too late. He has hanged himself.
I speak to Kathy and Claire on the phone. Kathy is calm. She has gone into ‘doctor’ mode. She needs to do this as Hugh named her as his next of kin and most of the tasks of the next few days and weeks will fall on her. Claire is devastated. As well as dealing with this through the night, she had spent several hours at her local A&E as she had fallen off her horse that day and now sports a black eye.
Once the police have given Kathy a time to go to the police station in Bradford, we arrange to meet up there, Kathy and her partner, Mark, Claire and her partner, Chris, Keith and myself and my other son, James, who has been estranged from me since I met Keith.
“If anything good can possibly come from this,” I thought during the journey over to Bradford, “James will surely start speaking to me again.”
It was not to be, but that was the least of our concerns that day.
The fact that the police have given us the post code of the old police station to feed into our sat navs does not help, but eventually we find our way to the new building. Kathy and James are already there, as we are shown into a tiny interview room and more chairs are brought. Mary, our police liaison officer proves herself to be a sterling support during that and the following days. At this stage, she tells us, they do not know why the police on the night watch didn’t respond as expected but an investigation has already begun. She tells us that she and a colleague had been the ones to break into the house and find Hugh. She tells us how he had removed his boots, tied a rope to the upstairs banister and, although one foot had been resting on one of the stairs, with all that he had apparently drunk, it was enough. There was an empty vodka bottle on the floor.
An hour later, we are taken to the mortuary, where we are able to see him. A slight rictus of the mouth is all that betrays the fact that he is not simply asleep. I can just see perfect, white teeth. Although he never looked after them very well, he never needed as much as a filling. One eye is very slightly open and he has that sardonic expression which he often wore, as if he sees it all as a bad joke. I trace the sign of the cross on his forehead and gently touch his cheek. I am told I can have more time with him if I wish, but I shake my head. There is no point. Hugh’s body is there, but Hugh is not.
We have a brief interview with the coroner, during which he explains what will happen next. I am dimly aware of talk of a post mortem and then an inquest will be opened and adjourned to allow for further investigations, including an examination of how the police dealt with things. During this, Claire’s mobile rings. She takes the call and it is Debbie, who has been told by a friend what has happened; not by the police as they have still not been able to trace her. James, realising who it is, snatches the phone from Claire and pockets it. Mary, the policewoman intervenes and says she needs the phone number so that she can speak to Debbie. The three of them go out of the room to sort this out. He has so much anger, this other son of mine, about anything and everything and he only seems able to deal with it by lashing out.
Back to the police station and a meeting with the police superintendent and an inspector. Claire and James are angry about the night’s events but these two seem very honest and open about the failings of the police to respond adequately and promise a full investigation. It seems that they are genuine, especially as the superintendent discloses that she has been through a similar situation with her brother some years previously. However, when she also says that she blamed herself, Claire and James take that to mean that she also feels they are to blame for Hugh’s action. I try to explain to Claire afterwards that she had been talking about herself, not them, but she is not convinced.
The WPC hands over the belongings that were found on Hugh – his watch, wallet, a little money and some cigarettes. Later, Kathy gives the watch to me to keep.
Soon afterwards, we part, Claire, Kathy and James to Liverpool to see their father, Jim, Keith and I to go back home. The headache which began that morning and gradually got worse during the day, is like a metal band around my head. I take more paracetemol. Eventually, exhausted, we go to bed.