26 tcf.org.uk Clearing out a cupboard in my writing shed, I pulled out a shoebox filled with old photographs and began sifting through them. One - of my son, Jamie, aged about four having his face painted at a fair - stopped me in my tracks. But then pictures of him always do. Whenever I see my boy's beautiful face it triggers thoughts of the child I carry in my heart, but whom I've learnt not to allow to live in my head. Otherwise, I risk being paralysed by memories. Jamie died almost 38 years ago. But I've been journeying through the grief of that terrible loss ever since. As I remembered him that day, as pain and love jostled for position, I suddenly thought: 'What day is it?' Grabbing my phone, I saw that it was, unbelievably, the day after the anniversary of Jamie's death at 14. For the first time, I had forgotten it. I froze to the spot, shocked it was even possible I could have done that. It isn't that I make a big thing of marking the day Jamie died or make a point of remembering his birthday — it's just that I instinctively know when these dates come around and feel the inevitable pangs of sadness and loss. Hardly believing I could have missed this one, I thought back to the previous day. I'd gone out for coffee with some author friends, then returned home to write before listening to an audiobook in the afternoon. In other words, the day had gone by, and it had been a good one. I went inside to make a cup of tea feeling disorientated, the same words going round in circles inside my head: 'Oh my goodness, that was yesterday, and I was out, and I didn't remember.' While the kettle boiled, I went on Twitter, posting the picture of Jamie that had triggered my memory in the first place. Underneath it, I wrote: 'Yesterday — the anniversary of my 14-year-old son's death. Yesterday — the day I had coffee with writer friends. Yesterday — the first time I forgot what day it was. Is that good or bad?' That question was purely rhetorical. I wasn't looking for an answer. I just wanted to mark what had happened and, in the moment, posting my thoughts into cyber-space was all I could think to do. I certainly wasn't expecting the many kind comments I got back, including a suggestion that my forgetting could be seen as a gift from my son. I went back to my shed comforted by that idea. Jamie was such a generous soul, so very loving, he would have hated the idea of me being dragged down by the anniversary of his death. Jamie died in a terrible accident on a sunny Saturday. Five days earlier, we had been celebrating my daughter’s 11th birthday at an adventure park. Before, we were a normal enough and very happy family. I had separated from my first husband, Jon, a couple of years earlier. The split had been amicable, and our Guilt and Bittersweet Relief - Remembering My Son Jamie Edited version of an article written in 2023 and published in the Daily Mail. Reprinted with kind permission of the author, Dinah Jefferies. COMPASSION | FEATURE - GUILT AND BITTERSWEET RELIEF That's not to say it stops hurting, it's just that the pain changes and becomes more manageable.
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