I’ve since watched her deal with the grief of losing her son, tried my best to help her through the hard times and helped her with a lot of fundraising efforts to keep her sons memory alive.

I see you, trying your hardest to live a normal life. Going back to work, I see how hard that was for you.

I hear your stories of when you’ve had to bite your tongue when someone says something stupid.

I see you, trying to better yourself, going to college with the hopes of university soon – your going to be a nurse one day – I know it.

You’re amazing.

I see you, fundraising for the hospice your son stayed in, rushing around planning events for families and children, I see how hard that is for you to cope with.

You’re selfless.

I see you, sharing old pictures from your ‘Facebook memories’ with happy captions. You could easily hide behind closed doors and hide your emotions.

I admire you.

I see you, looking uncomfortable when mothers talk about their children, I can see that’s hard for you, you do hide it well though.

I see you, wanting to use all of the ‘skills’ you acquired as a special needs mother, suctioning, tube feeding etc.. you’ll be able to put them to good use again soon, in a job that will be perfect for you.

You’re  still important

I see you, still celebrating your sons 3rd birthday with a meal, a balloon and lantern release.

I’m proud of you.

I see you, still making an effort to see my son, who has similar disabilities to yours. I would’ve fully understood if you couldn’t bring yourself to see him so soon after Oscars passing.

I see you, on the anniversary of your sons death, removing yourself from the ‘fuss’ of everyday life, in the hopes that it will help keep your mind off things.

You’re allowed to be sad.

You’re allowed to scream.

You’re allowed to cry.

But, you’ll never give up.

I see you, one of the best mothers I have ever come across.