He is beautiful, my son. Last night his father dropped him off at flying, and the world was good, and AC was amazing, and J and he loved each other, and I loved them both, and the planes flew well, and there weren't any serious crashes and the world was indeed a good and happy place.
This morning he will spend most of it at The Walks, for town sports trials, and he may get through and he may not. He's a good runner, and a very fit and healthy child now.
8 years ago he was a bundle of black hair and hunger.
7 years ago he was a bundle of blond hair and dairy intolerance that we had just got the hang of.
6 years ago he was living through a break up.
5 years ago he was learning to love Rich.
4 years ago he was moving house.
3 years ago he was drawing pictures, taking photos, sending letters to Rich as he served in Afghanistan.
2 years ago he was just living and loving, waiting for the weekends to have days out as a family.
1 year ago he was grieving, and loving, and trying not to be what he called "a person who lets their anger out of their insides when it isn't anyone elses fault."
This year he smiles like it comes naturally, but won't talk about Father's Day. At all.
Today, he snores on my sofa, for no apparent reason, other than he can.
