It’s funny how life just keeps moving on and how the little things within it can trigger memories. I’ve written about this before, and I will most certainly write about it again, because it is such an overwhelming part of my life and the life of all parents out there who’ve lost a child. Remembering, after all, is the only thing that we have left.

Yesterday brought with it a very powerful memory of my Craig. Last night I was watching the program X Factor on TV when the image of Craig appeared right before my eyes. I could see him perfectly as he was on those Saturday nights in front of the TV watching X Factor. The three of us would sit on the couch together, watching and commenting on the show, but as soon as the ad break came Craig was up. He’d run to the sitting room door and walk out to the hall and then quietly walk back in – he was now a contestant coming into audition before the judges! He would walk out from behind us and then stand squarely in front of the couch.

“And you are?” I would begin, prompting Craig to give me his name and details – always shyly but with brimming excitement. When the formalities were over I’d say “Ok . . . in your own time” and he would begin to sing. We’d watch as he’d stand only a couple of feet from us singing his little heart out, before finishing and listening to our glowing praise. He’d do this over and over again during the ads and it was such a feature of our Saturday nights. But what I remember more than all the other ‘auditions’ was the one time I startled him with a terrible judgement on his singing. After completing a lovely little tune I turned and said, “That was terrible – you clearly haven’t got the X factor,” words which were greeted with both shock and disgust. God I remember so vividly how his immediate instinct was to lunge right at me and smother me with furious arms and words which reflected the betrayal he felt. I remember how I laughed - under the torrent - at how easy it was to provoke him and how we eventually ended up in a heap together on the floor – both of us giggling and crying with the spontaneity and hysterics of it all.

That’s what I remembered last night as I sat watching the TV. The memory made me smile. A sad smile though. A remembered joy diminished instantly with the pain of his absence. But the joy was there nonetheless. I then recall looking away from the TV as the tears welled a little in my eyes and how I tried to hide this from Barbara. I didn’t want her to see me crying. Stupid – I know! But that’s how I am. Maybe it’s a man thing.

All of us grieving parents have these moments to contend with. They are there with us for the rest of our lives and their bittersweet nature is often unpalatable. But I’d rather have the memories and take the pain, than have no memories at all.