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Although I joy in Tom’s growth and development and marvel sometimes at each new attempt at quite complicated words, ‘hewi-coppa’ (helicopter) or ‘golgeous’ (goldfish), it sometimes serves as a cruel reminder of just how much of his life I am missing. All those momentous firsts that are passing me by in the one hundred and forty four hours each week that we are kept apart, unable to be together.

He arrives in mums’ car today, fabulously excited at once again being outside ‘daddy’s house’; his house. I jump up and down around the car like some half crazed circus performer barely able to contain my joy at seeing him again. The happiness of this moment is I realize, so much a part of the sadness when we have to say goodbye. So many goodbyes now. This whole experience, this thing that is happening to my son and I makes me wish for no more goodbyes in my life, indeed I believe that I am developing a pathological fear of farewells, a phobia of cheerio’s. Chin up.
The weather is quite appalling and the planned afternoon at ‘Clarefest’, a charity concert in memory of a local breast cancer victim and now a permanent social event on the already busy village calendar, has been washed out and we are forced to initiate plan B. Sometimes fate intervenes for the better and in that meddling delivers gifts that might not have otherwise been discovered. We make an impromptu visit to Vine Cottage at the far end of the village where two of my dearest friends live. Jeff and Lyn are as always warm and welcoming with a developing love for Tom as genuine I believe as that which they have always had for me. They have adopted him in the same simple and uncomplicated way as they adopted me so very long ago; Jeff a father to me, more knowing, more seeing, believing, in my hopes, fears, successes and failures than my estranged real father will ever be; more knowing of Tom and just how much he means to me. We are invited to stay for Sunday Roast, free range chicken with all the trimmings and soon Tom is seated, raised proudly on a cushion, his very own dining ‘throne’ squeezed in tightly between myself and Lyn. It isn’t too long before the food starts to fly, Tom throwing chicken, potatoes, stuffing and peas into his mouth like this is the most wonderful meal he has ever had, might ever have! This is more than just eating, more than fulfilling that sometimes tedious and uneventful requirement for food. This is fun, real fun and we all participate and delight in the simple pleasure of watching my little boy enjoying his food. Tom is not unaware of all this attention and as if to repay us all beams his contentment with the biggest of smiles; what fun this all is being sat at the ‘big table’ in the ‘big chair’ with a whole Yorkshire pudding in each hand, one from Jeff’s plate and the other stolen unashamedly from mine as I rush to capture this moment on camera. By the end of the feast Tom has eaten everything that has been put in front of him and has taken on the glowing appearance of an overfed cherub.
All too soon it is time for us to leave. We say our goodbyes, Tom now confidently offering kisses to Lyn, Jeff having to settle for air kisses at a safe distance, his chin perhaps a little too stubbly for Tom’s liking.

Bath time is quiet, close and unusually subdued. I wash his back gently as we sit single file in deep water, kissing his neck softly as I surround him with the plastic armada of red, green, yellow and blue boats. ‘Toms Big Adventure’ the new story for tonight but it is soon clear to me that my beautiful sleepy boy isn’t going to last the distance. I find a suitable moment to break the tale and lift him tenderly into his cot beside my bed, telling him with an assurance that seems peculiarly strange to me now, that I will ‘see him in the morning’ and at least for tomorrow it is the truth. A final whimper, defiant I like to think, not to be denied precious time with his daddy, and he is asleep. As I sit alone downstairs there is an overwhelming sense of rightness about today; an ease breaks over me, a peace within that I have not felt for a long time now. My little baby boy, safe, secure, warm and so loved here with me in this house, his home. For twenty four hours at least I am happy. Whatever sadness tomorrow brings, I am so glad that you are in my life.

I love you Tom