New Year's Eve

New Year's Eve...any excuse to stay up late and zap warriors on World of Warcraft or Runescape.
Callum would join in when the boys were younger, but the last couple of years one has been on the Xbox and the other on the computer although both in the same room.
Sometimes, the boys would wander downstairs and we would watch a film together, while they stocked up on food supplies and popcorn which Kieron would make in the microwave for both of them. I would end up sitting in a sea of popcorn crumbs while Kieron spread-eagled himself all over me and the settee.
I've always let the kids stay up to see the New Year in although Kieron would sometimes fall asleep and have to be woken up before then being carried up to bed.
Last year, one of my friends came round with some party poppers. At 11.50, I called the boys downstairs and we all watched the fireworks on the Thames on television and listened to the countdown. Kieron was getting excited and Callum was super-cool and blase,
After the Big Ben stuff my friend and I got Kieron to run out in the street with us, letting off the party poppers. I remember that he only had socks on and I told him it didn't matter. Who needs trainers on the opening minutes of the new year?
Callum watched out of the window as it was all a bit 'embarrassing' for him, but Kieron was laughing at the top of his voice and letting off the party poppers.Some went on the cars parked outside but I decided to worry about that in the morning.
It was difficult, once we went back home to quieten Kieron down. He was amazed that his boring mum could mess about like a kid. He was cute and giggly and loud. He was talking faster than his mouth could keep up, telling Callum what fun it was and that he was a wooss to have watched from a safe vantage point.
Tonight, I'm trying to ignore the early fireworks but I'll stay up and wish my son a happy new year. A new year that I believe he'll see from above the fireworks. A new year that is one year nearer to being with him again.

Christmas Morning

It's 5.30 am and I want to wake Kieron up. But I can't. In happier times, he would bound out of bed and start bouncing about immediately. 'Callum, Callum, wake up it's Christmas!!' would be the cry reverberating around the house. A couple of years ago, Callum would leap out of bed but of late he has grumbled as only a mid-teen can and grudgingly given up the warmth of his bed to keep his annoying little brother company.
Three sacks of presents, three stockings, each labelled Jade, Callum and Kieron to avoid confusion. Although a few years ago I got the boys presents mixed up and they were opened with hilarity and pity for mum who 'must have been drunk last night'. No, just a bit tired. When Kieron was young enough to truly believe in Father Christmas, questions would be fired at me unrelentingly...how did Santa know what to get? how did I know who had sent what? This was answered in a variety of ways depending on how awake I was. My morning coffee would have to wait until most presents were opened and admired. Kieron opens everything frantically, Callum is a little slower. 'What game is that?', 'We'll play my game first' ....the sibling bickering has begun.
Like a whirlwind, everything is opened and I wander round, black sack in hand picking up rubbish. Presents for me are given amidst tales of when they were bought and the rationale behind each. It doesn't matter...whatever the gift, it's given with love. Lots and lots of love.
Kieron runs off after his brother and peace reigns. Breakfast consists of the contents of a selection box, but hey..it's Christmas.
Today is so quiet. No little boy to open presents, instead I opened small gifts that I had bought him. I pulled some crackers on my own and tried to laugh at the jokes. I'm trying to block out the sounds of next door's children. I'm trying.

Christmas Eve Nightime

Kieron is now getting more excited as the day draws to a close. He would be sprawled on the settee watching Christmas programmes like Top Gear and Braniac. Tea always consists of party food and nibbly things. This means crumbs on the settee, the floor and all over himself as we all sit in the lounge and slob out. We usually end up laughing at one of Kieron's unintentional witticisms and his 10 year old clumsiness. By now, I've had to refill bowls of chocolates and peanuts and tell tale smears leave tracks down his clothes. We decide which Christmas film we all want to watch which usually means Callum and Kieron gang up on me and an action film is the compromise.
Santa's mince pie and milk are put on a Christmas plate with Rudolph's carrot even though Kieron is only a believer on Christmas Eve night. We have a deal that he can sleep in my bed because that way I can smuggle presents downstairs more easily although the odd whisper of 'I can hear you' has been heard the last couple of years. When Kieron was younger, I had some Austrian cow bells which sound just like sleigh bells and they often worked like a sleeping pill. After all, Father Christmas doesn't risk coming down chimneys if a child is still awake.
Presents piled in pristine white pillowcases and spilling over the sides are left near the fireplace and stockings are stuffed with cars and felt pens and boxes of reindeer poo for Kieron, smellies, sweets and socks for his brother and sister. Father Christmas was incredibly polite when Kieron was small and always left a thank you note by the carrot stub and mince pie crumbs. This was gilding the lily in later years. Kieron could take so much pretence but the last couple of years it was a bit of overkill. Probably because Kieron realised that Santa had writing paper identical to mine.
I would creep up the stairs and see a little mop of dark brown hair peeking out from the duvet with that 'lets pretend to be asleep' type of breathing. Into bed to see a grinning face looking at me and snuggling up to a tangle of arms and legs. Kieron's a real sweaty kid in bed so I would sleep fitfully, pulling the duvet off him to cool him down and then covering him up again.Waiting for morning and then waking him early just so that I could see the excitement on his little face.
Tonight I sit in a quiet house...the older ones are at their dads. I will sleep alone and instead of waking up to see my beautiful son all I will see is an empty pillow and hear the deafening silence in my house.

Christmas Eve Daytime

Kieron, like most kids can be super-hyper Christmas Eve. Up extra early for a morning cuddle before racing round like a whirling dervish, followed by a fever of impatience while I try to get started in the kitchen to save time and energy tomorrow.
I always make sweets to put in jars at Christmas, so that the kids can just dip into them and I set Kieron little jobs to do to help. One of these is helping with chopping. He cuts up marshmallows ready for Rocky Road...cut one, eat one, cut one, eat one, oops been caught by mum! He breaks up the chocolate, remembering too late that he forgot to wash his hands, so we can be assured that there may be some rather grubby bits of chocolate in the mix. Oh well, it's dark chocolate so no-one will notice and we won't tell anyone. Break some, eat some, break some, eat some. Caught again! Once it's made, he gets the bowl to scrape out and ends up a delightful chocolatey, sticky mess.
Millionaire's Shortbread next and he hovers waiting for the caramel saucepan. Then he gets bored and vanishes for a while to kill off a few World of Warcraft bad guys.
A sudden reappearance with concern on his face..am I going to do Pigs in Blankets? Will I make enough? Are they ready as he's STARVING!? I give Kieron the task of brushing egg and milk on the sausage rolls and he then grabs something to eat before going to vanquish more virtual baddies.
Kieron returns and starts on the Celebrations, his favourites disappearing at an alarming rate along with his tooth enamel. Invariably I realise I've forgotten to buy some essential food item and leave Kieron with his big brother while I rush to a shop, returning to find that the cooling sausage rolls have reduced in number. This is deemed to be Molly's fault. Molly is Kieron's cat and that reminds him that I haven't put treats in the cats' stockings. Another job for Kieron.
Boredom with kitchen related tasks sets in again and off he goes...more baddies to exterminate and sugar levels rising rapidly. I carry on cooking and wish for a quiet evening.
No cooking this year and I know I'll have a quiet evening but I desperately want to cook. I desperately want a sugar-laden 10 year old making lots of noise. I desperately want Kieron.

No Little Angel

Kieron can have the most amazing tantrums. From a very young age he could scream and scream for ages. I would put him in his carseat and swing him till my arm felt that it had grown 6 inches. Eventually, we put cup hooks in a doorway and attached the seat to that and swung him until he smiled and then slept. Without thinking, on one occasion I asked Kieron's sister to pick up something that was under the chair and yes..it hit her on the head as he swung. Kieron loved his swing and would shout until he was swinging fast enough.
Once he had outgrown the seat and had started to walk if he decided to sulk he did it in inimitable style. Shoulders down, bottom lip sticking out, semi-hunched and walking around looking at the floor. The first time he did it I couldn't stop laughing, so he pouted even more.It almost became his party piece.
As he grew older he started to stomp. Up the stairs stomp, into his room stomp, around his room stomp, slam the door stomp, shout 'go away' at full pelt. Creeping up the stairs and putting my head round his bedroom door, I would find him lying under his bunkbed or in his bed pretending that he couldn't see or hear me. Sometimes he would break something of his, almost like a self-punishment.
But Kieron's tantrums are fiery and furious and end as fast as they begin. Within a few minutes a footstep on the stairs would alert me to the end of the rage. I would turn round and either see a note saying 'sorry' slid under the door or a little whirlwind would launch himself at me for a hug.
Sometimes we sat down and talked about why he got angry..was it justified or over-reaction? How could we work towards a compromise?
Other times, with Kieron's arms and legs firmly wrapped round me, I would up-end him and walk round with him upside down and giggling.
I want to hear him stomping. I want to hear him slam his door. I just want to hear him.

End of Christmas term

It's the end of term tomorrow. Kieron would have presents for his teacher and her assistant hidden in his backpack, to hand over at the right time. This usually means when no-one else is looking because as he became an awesome 10 year old it was a serious reduction in street cred to give teachers presents.

Leftovers from the class Christmas party would be consumed with glee by Kieron and his class mates and the last few cards would be given and received. These would be bluetacked up in the kitchen with the rest of the school cards: a pictorial decoration for Christmas. 

Sometimes the children were allowed to wear 'home' clothes on the last day of term and this would involve a prolonged debate the night before on what to wear. The short sleeved t shirts would be tried then discarded. Jeans or trackies?? Decisions, decisions. Mum's common sense would generally prevail and Kieron would settle for jeans, a football shirt and a hoodie. At the last minute trainers would be cleaned and hair gelled if it was long enough. Last Christmas Kieron had a grade 4, so no gel. 

When Kieron was younger, I would wait at the school gate and try to ignore the mysterious parcel poking out of his backpack. To preserve the surprise element, I'd refrain from rummaging around looking for end of term letters, knowing that there was also a handmade card or 2 lurking in the sticky, crumb laden depths. Kieron would have Christmas tree chocolate from school which was hastily crammed in his mouth before offering me a sticky hand to hold to get across the road.

A couple of years age he was trusted to cross over with a lollipop lady and walk to my car which was always in the same place. I could see him walking down the road juggling backpack, bookbag, p.e. kit and chocolate and would go to help him. Last Christmas, Kieron was deemed old enough and sensible enough to walk home: after all, he was off to senior school before long and it was time to gain some independence.

He'd arrive home, dragging his stuff, chocolatey mouthed and grinning. Yayyyyy no school. The lovingly made cards and Christmas pictures would appear from his backpack and be given pride of place.

They still have pride of place, but there are no chocolatey kisses to go with them.

Birthdays

It was my mum's birthday yesterday. Had she lived she would have been 74. Kieron always enjoyed family birthdays because it meant cake. For my mum it would be chocolate gateau which Kieron would end up wearing down the front of his clothes regardless of his age. He would be in charge of nanny's birthday card with his older brother and sister handing over a present each.He would hide it behind his back and get a little embarrassed, looking to me for a nod to indicate it was time to hand it over. He didn't know my mum that well. She had advanced Alzheimer's disease so the nanny that my daughter remembers and also my older son to some extent wasn't the loving, supportive mum that I know, but a slightly bonkers, older-than-her-years little old lady, who could be relied on to make Kieron giggle with her oddness.
But Kieron loved her. Not because he had to but because she's family. His nan. Because he grew up seeing her every day and learnt from me who she really was and he could see that deep inside she loved him.
My mum ended up in a residential home because her disease was so advanced and debilitating. Kieron's siblings stopped going to see her because it was too distressing for them, but Kieron would come with me sometimes and he'd sit and do jigsaws while I desperately tried to make conversation with a dearly loved lady who had reverted to babyhood.
Kieron was unfazed...he'd chatter on about school and his little friends and if my mum managed to talk at all it was usually something nonsensical, but Kieron carried on talking. Other little old ladies and occasionally men would smile at him and try to make conversation, but then Kieron shied away timidly, checking that I was within grabbing distance.
 The day that she died, Kieron kept checking that I was ok. He shed his tears and then gave love and support to his siblings.
Now Kieron's with his nan. A nan who is no longer stricken with mental illness, but can do all the things that Kieron missed out on doing with her. A nan who can give him all the cuddles that I so desperately want to give him and can't just yet.

Relatives

Kieron had no contact with his birth father from the age of 1. Therefore there is a lack of  relatives for him, of which he has always been very aware so he would always enjoy time with my parents before they died and in later years with my aunt, who all my kids called Dow because of a rattling window in her sitting room and she would say 'be quiet window'.
Kieron, like his siblings, kept a shopping bag in her cupboard. Kieron's bag held (and still holds) colouring stuff, lego, toy cars minus wheels and farm animals. In her kitchen is a little sweet tin with his own biscuit stash and a redundant sweetener container containing chocolate chips. Each child has these with their names on them, irrespective of age. Kieron loved seeing Dow. Having spent all her working life as an infant/primary teacher he could easily cajole her into doing messy stuff. Making muffins was a firm favourite and Kieron would spend time during school holidays with Dow making these, picking flowers for her chapel arrangements and making lego mansions for her dream house. On my arrival to take him home, I would be presented with a muffin to sample and the rest in a bag for his siblings. I would dutifully admire the lego which would then be put safely away to alter the next time. My aunt would giggle in fake horror at some of the things Kieron would say, and on several times she became his confidant and partner-in-crime. He climbed trees for her benefit and fed a friendly fox. He did little jobs for her, which she usually invented so that Kieron would feel that he was helping her in her dotage. He became a surrogate grandson and she was a surrogate grandparent.
He would chatter away, often prefixing with 'you know what Dow.....' and would regale her with his exploits at school and home. As the youngest member of the family he helped to keep her young, and since he went she has aged quite suddenly. A sprightly dame of 85 going on 30 is now 85. She has a special table in her sitting room holding pictures of Kieron, a little bean bag he liked playing with and at the moment a mini musical Christmas tree and other Christmasy bits. She has tears in her eyes when she talks of him, although she's a strong woman who has known many personal tragedies. She wants to take his place but no deals can be done.

Christmas shopping

Kieron would puzzle over what to get his older brother and sister for Christmas.

He could generally decide quite easily what to get his brother because where Callum led, Kieron followed so he would just think of something that he would like for himself and upgrade it a few years for his older brother. There was also a cunning plan involved in this, because Kieron knew that once Callum tired of it, he would give it to Kieron anyway. An entrepreneur in the making.

For his sister, he would usually ask me to get her some make up or socks, working on the basis that this is standard girlie stuff so therefore perfectly acceptable.

If Kieron had a 'girlfriend' there would ensue a huge dilemma of what to get her and that would involve a trip of major importance so that the lucky girl in question would be suitably impressed, without Kieron looking too 'woosy' in front of his mates at school.

As for his teacher and her assistant, it was always a case of 'oh, just get anything' as if it was an add-on to homework and had to be done.

The cats have a mini stocking each and packets of cat treats had to be stuffed inside.

And for me.....Kieron would go shopping with his sister to Canterbury. Always Canterbury. There he could convince Jade to buy him giant hot dogs and mini donuts, while lending him extra money to buy himself a treasure from a street market stall. Last year he bought a knitted hat with plaits and insisted on wearing it indoors. He would allow himself to be dragged into all the fashion shops in the search for my perfect present, little knowing that he was that already.

Last year, he bought me a pretty little photo album for me to put pictures of my parents in. I've got pictures of Kieron in there instead now.

On the front it says 'forget-me-not'. No Kieron, I will never forget you.

Log fires

I have a fireplace in my lounge. It's a pretty fireplace with tiled inserts. Kieron would stare at the flames on the rare occasions I lit the fire and see pictures in them. He would laugh at the cats who were mesmerised by the flames dancing up the chimney and giggle if they got a whisker through the fireguard and got singed. He liked sitting on the floor in front of the fire but would leap up suddenly if a stray ember hit the guard and shriek with pretend fear.
A few years ago a friend gave me some granules to throw on the coals to make blue fire like in Harry Potter and Kieron was delighted at the magic in the firelight. I tried to explain the chemical side of how to make blue fire but gave up in the face of his childish wisdom. After all, he's seen the films. He knows it takes a wand and magic.
As he got older he was allowed to put logs on the fire and and prod it with the poker, turning to ask me if he was doing it right. He carried in fresh logs for me and knew where I hid the matches out of his reach.
Kieron discussed the conundrum of how Santa got down the chimney and puzzled over how Santa managed in houses without chimneys. It had to be magic again. He delighted in putting out a mince pie and glass of milk for Santa and a carrot for Rudolph. Even as he outgrew this childlike fantasy, we still did it, but who was humouring who?
Kieron, the little boy who believed in magic because for him life was magical and he brought magic into our lives.

Christmas Cards

After doing the trees yesterday, it really hit hard realising that there wouldn't be a card written by Kieron this year. So I got out his old hand made cards.
Cards made year after year at school and brought home in 'secret', stashed inside his book bag which I wasn't allowed to look in. A reindeer made of felt stuck onto green card with a bright red nose and surrounded by cotton wool snow. A Santa carefully stuck onto silver paper which was then stuck onto red card. A green tree with cotton wool baubles. Another one of a tree with glitter and Christmassy sequins. That doesn't include the lanterns and angels and myriad other Christmas pieces of priceless artwork Looking at me now is a reindeer lovingly crafted from sacking, with stick on wobbly eyes. Sewn together painstakingly in a crude running stitch, but more valuable to me than anything Chanel could provide. A tealight holder squished out of clay, with Kieron's finger indentations round the side, that I lovingly stroke as I try to feel his hand in mine.
Christmas presents bought from the school PTA and paid for out of extra pocket money, earned by doing little jobs so that I wouldn't realise that Kieron wanted an extra pound to buy me something. Christmas presents that were wrapped with love and lots and lots of tape.
Christmas.....a time for children, not a time for grieving mums.

Christmas Trees

Today I put up Christmas trees. Kieron would always help by passing me the baubles as I requested them and ask where he should put the ones that he chose to put on the trees himself. He would chatter on and on about what he wanted for Christmas. When he was little we would go to see Santa in his grotto and Kieron would always look at me nervously when Santa beckoned him forward. 'Go on, it's ok' I would say to him and surreptitiously nod at Santa if the relevant presents were to be forthcoming. 

As he got older, he would declare with all the wisdom of a super smart, all-knowing child that Santa wasn't real, a fiction of an adult's imagination, along with the tooth fairy and the Easter bunny. But every year just before Christmas he would renege on his decision for fear of not getting anything on Christmas morning.So,during the Christmas decoration process he would say what he wanted and frequently get out the Argos catalogue and draw stars on his desired choices. 5* for the 'must haves' down to 1* for the less important choices. 

I would be presented with a list, written in a hurried scrawl as though the faster he wrote, the higher the chances of getting his wishes fulfilled. While decorating, we would discuss the school Christmas activities...did he want Christmas dinner? usually he would vacillate between yes and no, generally deciding that he would rather stick with a packed lunch as he knew that the dinner ladies would make him eat the dreaded vegetables. The school Christmas party menu would then come up...would I get him some Fruit Shoots to take or some other hyper-behaviour inducing goodies. Yes, I would.

After the trees were done, Kieron would have the leftover decorations and have his own tree in his room. He always asked for lights and I always said no for fear of fire. 

It took a lot longer today than usual, my heart certainly wasn't in it and my little helper was missing. It was silent: no Christmas songs playing to add to the atmosphere, no chatter, no fun, just tears.

But  Kieron still  has his tree in his room, the hardest tree I have ever decorated. And he still has no lights.

Snowmen

Kieron + snow = snowmen (usually rude ones).
The first snowfall would generate demands to see if school was shut followed by everyone hushing to hear the local news on the radio in the hope of extra time off school. If one of the older kids got a freebie but Kieron didn't he didn't mind because at least at school he could throw snowballs at his friends, secure in the knowledge that I would appear to collect him if school finished early. It always amazed him when he was in the infants how I knew that school was over early. Mummy magic.
Snowmen evolved over the years, from blobs stuck on top of each other to refinements made with the help of his older brother and sister into snow characters. Small snowballs rolled down the road until they were accredited with being  big enough and worthy enough to sit in our front garden. Then my grass would be trampled in my back garden to achieve the same result. Boobs started to make an appearance on them courtesy of Kieron's older brother until he became too old and 'cool' to make snowmen.
This is where Kieron's older sister took over. Last year in the January snows, I came home to find a snowman/woman with various appendages sitting in my front garden for the world to see. Kieron laughed at my requests to remove various body parts, knowing that I secretly found it hilarious.
I promised him a snowman this winter and I have made him one. A ridiculous travesty of the ones he made, because I'm not a very good snowman maker. But I can hear Kieron saying to me 'it's ok mum-you tried your best' and I did, but trying to make a snowman with tears pouring down my face isn't easy. It's almost impossible.
I don't want to make more snowmen. I want to make a time machine.

Today

Today is 240 days since Kieron went. I can't count in weeks or months: that seems too final somehow, so instead every morning I turn to his photos which are beside my bed and tell him how many days we are at now. Every night I do the same, but I also tell him that we are one day nearer to being together again.
One day nearer..24 hours..1440 minutes..8640 seconds..every day becomes a lifetime to get through. Even night time is hard because I sleep so little. I yearn for a few hours of uninterrupted sleep: 2 hours would do. 2 hours in which I could be oblivious to the pain, although who am I trying to kid. On the odd occasion that I dream, the pain is still there. The knowledge that Kieron is not in his bedroom next to mine is reaching to me even in my deepest sleep. I feel the tiredness that I felt when Kieron was a baby. The tiredness caused by hungry babies and wet nappies, but that was a joyous tiredness. This is so different. This is a tiredness caused by the deepest, most agonising loss any woman could face. It's a tiredness of trying to exist without my son. It's the knowledge that I don't have to wake at the slightest noise anymore and knowing that if I knock on the adjoining wall between our rooms to signal that I'm awake, Kieron won't come in for a cuddle. But still I knock.