Dear Toby,

It is your 38^th birthday today and I have been remembering the day you were born. Today is a Monday and you were born on a Monday.

We were living in Scottsdale, near Phoenix in Arizona and I was spending a lazy day at home waiting for your arrival. You were due on 29^th December so I had no idea that morning that you were about to arrive.

We had a water bed – very popular in the US, and I was in bed watching the movie ‘Meet me in St Louis’ starring Judy Garland. I’ve always loved the old musicals. She sings ‘Have yourself a merry little Christmas’ in that film and it brings a lump to my throat now every time I hear it as it takes me back to the day my son Toby William Thorn came into the world.

I noticed the bed felt wet and I thought my waters had broken, but then as I investigated I realised the bed had a leak… so a false alarm.

That evening it was Monday night football on the TV, a weekly ritual in the States. As the game progressed I started to have contractions, so I phoned the hospital and they told me to wait and come in when I couldn’t breathe enough to speak on the phone.

Something told me to ignore their advice and your Dad drove us to The Good Samaritan Hospital in Phoenix, it must have been about 10.30 at night and you arrived at 4.35 am the next morning. You were a perfect baby – 7lb 7oz and very healthy and happy.

As this was America – the land of private health insurance – we were discharged at noon the next day – we had no clue how to be parents. They sent us home with some formula and a bottle so as soon as you started crying we fed you and you went to sleep for about 4 hours.

Even though your dad turned out to  be a dud, in the early days he was brilliant – I was always in high anxiety mode – he was cool and laid back and didn’t baulk at getting up in the night to feed you. I was the bread winner so I went back to work after 6 weeks and your dad looked after you. I have to believe he loved you – it was just long term he couldn’t be a good dad for  you.

I wish we had talked more about your dad and what happened. He was young and not ready to be a devoted dad, he was just starting his career as a fire fighter and paramedic and the job always came first. He didn’t have good parental role models and he didn’t feel that strong paternal bond – so after we divorced and returned home to the UK, he just didn’t keep in touch.

I always felt like a failure for not giving you a happy family unit, for years it was just us 2. I did my best to be mum, dad and breadwinner and keep a roof over our head.  

I think you did appreciate that, although you weren’t the best at telling me, the times you did it meant so much.

I wish you could have stuck around to realise that life is full of ups and downs and maybe you would have conquered whatever was torturing your troubled mind. To the outside world you seemed happy and carefree – the thought that gives me the most pain is that you didn’t feel you could tell me or anyone else what you were going through.

I’ve built a fairly decent life – you know me, always walking on hot coals, going on retreats, following dreams – I was never just going to sit still and cry for the rest of my life.

Your death changed me and as devastated as I feel, I also feel incredibly strong, resilient and determined to never give up on striving to live the best life I can in the circumstances.

I hate Christmas so much, nearly as much as I hate Mothers’ Day but I always get through it. Today it is lovely and sunny and I’ve got your wreath and lots of things to hang on your tree so I’ll meet you up at Chyenhal where your memorial is. Last year you sent a robin to visit so I’ll be looking out for him.

Until we meet again – I’ll always love you

Mom xxxx