Following my first post it’s now been 4 years since Ben was taken… stolen from us.
The pain remains as raw and instant as that first terrible day, everything that happened continually playing like a film in my head; Where is he? Why’s he taking so long? Driving round looking for him. Trying his phone. The police answering it and telling me they’ll bring it to me. Jumbled thoughts… had he just lost his phone, had he been mugged, where WAS he? The police arriving to deliver those dreadful words. The police car ride to the hospital (blues and twos… Ben would’ve loved it). Having to identify him. Trying to contact his Mum… we were divorced and she was abroad on business. Having to tell her. Taking her to see him…
I still can’t understand it.. grasp it.
There are times it briefly doesn’t seem real… but mostly…. a never ending nightmare, that film always running, sometimes in the background but very much there, sometimes front and centre at full volume, both versions informing my every day.
4 years… and the sun still never fully comes out.
