They would have been so sweet to look back on next year and see how much we’ve changed.
They could have been just that.
But they weren’t. They aren’t. And despite how much I want them to be just photos, they never will be; but I’m not ready to write about that just yet.
After Dadda appeared on the fields that Tuesday night, two little boys swung like monkeys as we scouted out the best tree for conker collecting.
Baby Dragon took delight in his natural wonderland, scattering rain-dampened pebbles…
…collecting fallen treasure…
…and proudly presenting his Momma with some Autumn jewels.
Our Little Adventurer sought only the finest conkers…
…those protected from predators with their prickly casings.
Yet we arrived on our doorstep minutes later, rich in Autumnal happiness…to a world of heartbreak, and the loss of Casanova later that night. Trapped within our annual tradition now lies the sorrow of knowing that whilst we were busy creating these memories to cherish, our beautiful boy was suffering tragically at home as the wall of his tumour burst irreparably through his skin.