Craig Dempster 14.07.77 – 02.11.1995
And so another anniversary rolls around. Today marks 24 years since my middle child, Craig passed away. I think of Craig every single day. Not just on anniversaries. Craig would be 42 years old now. I can’t help but wonder, if his life had not been prematurely cut short, what would his life be like today? Would he have children? Would he be happy? Some days, I can drive myself crazy with these thoughts. But mostly I’m able to acknowledge and compartmentalise them, acknowledging that they are there and no matter how I’m feeling it’s ok. Other days my thoughts make me sad and very angry.
A yellow box that looks exactly the same as this yellow box sits in a cupboard in my house. It has moved with me five times since 1995, when Craig’s life was taken suddenly in a road accident. The box contains letters and cards sent to me after Craig’s death. It contains cuttings of newspaper reports. It also contains the report on his death, by the Coroner. I have read this report once, at the time of the Coroners Inquest. I will never forget how upsetting it was to read all the details of his death. Since then, I have never lifted the lid on that box and looked at the contents. Since Craig’s funeral day, the box has only been opened only one time, and that was to slip the Coroners report into it.
Perhaps, one day I will have the strength to open the box and read those beautiful letters and cards again. At the moment, even after 24 years, I just do not have the strength to do that.
I’ve written many posts in memory of Craig over the years. Below are links to just three of those posts.
My son Craig – 20 years ago today.
Memories of Craig – Forever a teenager
*image: Pic Collage. I didn’t use a photo of the actual box as it’s looking a bit worse for wear these days.
Sending you so much love. People who haven’t lost a child think time heals, but though grief changes with time, in some ways it gets more difficult – harder … it moves from a constant pointed stabbing pain that wont allow you to stand upright, into a dull thud -which is the cell-deep ache of longing… Daily. Wanting your boy back. Every day. Every morning. Every night. 💜Craig💜
Hi Sue I know you do understand. Your words explain it perfectly. Hope you’re well
I just can’t imagine the pain losing a child brings, Jen and no words can every compensate can they? I’m glad you have kept the box and yes, one day you will know that it is the right time to revisit it’s contents. Thinking of you and sending hugs. xx
Thanks for your comment Sue. And also for the hugs of course
I read your post a few times, Jen, unsure how to respond. I cannot imagine the depth of sadness and pain when you lose a child. I do want to send you love and hugs.
Thank you so much Erica. I do appreciate your thoughts and kind words. Your response was perfect by the way
I’m so sorry to read this.
I blundered across your blog as I was searching for some info on Maxine’s Challenge (I’m currently doing it) and read some of your posts. Then saw this one. I’ve not lost a child, but can’t imagine anything worse. Big hugs.
Thanks for popping in Lucy. I love the Maxine’s Challenge . It’s a really great program. Good luck with it. Thanks also for your kind words about my son.