A MOTHER’S LOVE, A MOTHER’S LOSS

My clever little boy.

That’s what I always called him. Because that’s exactly what he was—clever, kind, gentle, and full of love. From the moment Keith came into the world, there was something special about him. He was calm, thoughtful, and curious—he could read so young. He never made a mess of his toys or broke things like some kids do. He looked after everything. His train set? Still in perfect condition the day he left home. That’s just the kind of boy he was.

He was a loving big brother too. So kind to his little sister—only three years younger—and so, so gentle with his baby brother, twelve years between them. He always had time for them. Always made them feel safe. He never pushed them away. That was Keith—he just had a kind heart.

And he loved his comics. His dad used to bring them home for him every week, even when Keith was only two. That became a tradition between them. And he never stopped loving them, even when he was grown. They were his escape, I think. His comfort.

When he moved out, he still came to visit me. We’d sit together and talk—just the two of us—about everything. Life. Friends. The house he was living in. He struggled a bit with that place. The people were messy, lazy. He didn’t like the mess, but he didn’t complain much. He just wanted to paint. That’s all he ever really wanted—to be an artist.

One day, I suggested painting on pebbles. Just an idea. He loved it. He even did a few. And I asked him once, “Can you hide a butterfly in your paintings, just for me?” He smiled and said yes. Later, I found out he didn’t just hide one—he painted a whole imaginary butterfly just for me. That was Keith. Quiet, thoughtful, always doing little things for the people he loved.

I always knew he was bright—top of his class all through school. Never took a single day off, not once. But I’ll never forget going to the first parents’ evening at grammar school, walking through the corridors and seeing his paintings all over the walls. I didn’t even know they were his at first. I was just walking around in awe. And then the headteacher said, “Ah, Keith’s mum—the boy with the long hair.” I’ll never forget that. I was bursting with pride.

I thought he’d go down the academic route—he was good at everything. Even rugby, though he hated it. He still played, because the school wanted him to. He never liked letting people down.

He was always trying to do his best. Always trying to make people happy.
He was sensitive, and he saw the good in people, even when maybe he shouldn’t have. He came from a small home, but we had everything we needed, and I took great pride in it. I remember him coming home once all excited because a friend’s house had ice cream in the freezer. We didn’t have a freezer. That was Keith—he saw joy in the little things.

I didn’t understand his paintings back then—not really. I thought painting meant making something look exactly how it looked in real life. I didn’t know there was more to it than that. I just didn’t see how clever and imaginative he really was until he was gone.

I don’t talk about that night. I can’t.
It hurts too much.
I’ve had to block it out just to get through the years.

We lost everything when we lost Keith.
And I don’t just mean him.
We lost peace. We lost joy. We lost the future we thought we’d have.

We had no support—not then, not after. We just had each other. We’ve looked after ourselves as a family ever since. And I made sure to pass on to my children that we would not let hate live in our hearts. Not even after what was done to him. I couldn’t. And they haven’t. We carry love, not hate.

Before I had children, I worked in an office at Oddems Press in Covent Garden, and I loved it. But once the children came, I gave that up and took a job as a school cook, just so I could be home during the holidays—so I could watch over them, keep them safe, just love them. That’s all I ever wanted. To love them and keep them close.

And I did.
I loved them with everything I had.
And I loved Keith with all of me.

I know all mums think their kids are special.
But my Keith really was.

He was a loving, beautiful, gentle young man.
And the world lost something truly precious the night he died.