Al's friend

I rarely write anything on Facebook but on his anniversary this year, I had felt moved to write,

“Thank you to those young people who took the trouble to place flowers on Al's bench today. So few people bother to say his name that I believed he had been forgotten. This has been extremely painful for me so it meant such a lot to me to discover that this is not the case.”

I wanted his friends to know that their actions were appreciated.

Last week, I met a friend for our usual Tuesday morning breakfast date. It’s become a bit of a ritual for us. My only day off is Tuesday so we meet for breakfast or early lunch and then I see my counsellor.

My friend is one of the extremely rare few who understand. Although she has no children, she is truly empathic and really seems to understand how I feel.

Anyway, we’d finished eating and putting the world to rights and I’d complained about my bloody awful family and she’d listened and made appropriate noises at the right time – as opposed to making excuses for them which is what most seem to do if I dare mention how crap I feel when others ignore Al’s death.

As we left our seats, we were approached by a member of staff. She asked me if I was Mrs Cameron-Young and I said I was (thinking ‘how does she know my name?’). She looked very nervous as she told me that she knew Alex and she wanted me to know that people did remember him and they still thought about him and missed him. She’d read my Facebook comment and wanted me to know that people cared. She talked a little of her memories of him and said, “My mum loved him. She said he lit up a room when he walked in.” There we were - stood in the middle of a busy pub carvery with my eyes brimming with tears thanking her profusely for taking the time to say that. My friend was also quite emotional. If it hadn’t been such a public place, I’d have probably grabbed the girl and hugged her but I didn’t want to embarrass her or make her feel awkward.

Nevertheless, the sense of relief was enormous. I just couldn’t express my gratitude effectively because no words could convey how much it meant to me. All I could say was “Thank you so much. You have no idea how much it means to me to hear that.”

And then she was gone. And I went to my counselling appointment. And I noticed that my counsellor also became misty eyed when I recounted the incident. It still gets to me – that a young girl could take the time to talk to me about my son.

And I hesitate to even mention it as it feels like it detracts from that experience, but why can’t my family just occasionally make the effort to do the same. The contrast seems all the more stark now. But I’m so glad she plucked up the courage to speak to me. My boy had some lovely friends.