4th January The Christmas period was fine but there was then a rapid downhill spiral culminating in New Year's Day when the family got together for a meal. The 'banter' at the table suggested a return to a more normal existence and the 'completeness' of the family was particularly painful. Pam is regularly breaking down again. She felt that the Queen's speech telling the Dunblane parents to 'look to the future' was crass - the children died last March, only nine months ago, they were their future. 7th January Taking down the Christmas decorations was a relief, they gave us no pleasure whilst they were up. We've noticed that friends and relatives now send us a higher preponderance of religious cards. 11th January Today is my mother's birthday. She would be ninety-six. As I was looking through papers preparing for the Inquest Pam found the batch of notes that Philip wrote to himself shortly before his death. Distressing. 19th January Pam told me how difficult it had been in Sketchley's telling them just how much to shorten Philip's suit so it would fit Jonathan. My father told me how he saw his father's clothes hanging in a cupboard when he came back from the funeral. For me it was seeing my father's false teeth, wrapped in a slimy damp flannel. I saw them in the second drawer on the right of a desk or cabinet. And his car, his blue Peugeot had been returned and left on the drive in front of the garage a few days after he died by the people he had been calling on when he collapsed. They didn't call, they just left it there looking forlorn. Perhaps we were out. 22nd January The Inquest is now over, not far off 2 years after Philip died. We all feel quite deflated. 30th January I awoke dreaming that Philip was a child of four or five telling me that he was the naughtiest in the class by a long chalk. I asked him to change as it would mean he wasn't going to grow up, saying 'you know what you are going to do'. It's the effect of having our three year old granddaughter here for the night, I suppose. 6th February Natasha has shown us a poem that her brother Nicholas has written for school, supposedly in 'iambic pentameter' he was awarded A- for it. He was only 12 when Philip died (now 14). Enveloped in your own grief you can forget how others have been affected and to me, Nick's poem shows someone fighting hard to justify going on 'as normal' in the wake of Phil's death: The grief was apparent throughout the Church How could such a cruel tragedy take place? The tears were clear to see as people wept, Such a waste of a terribly young life. Memories were shared but sadness prevailed, The service seemed so long, a time for thought. Friends were consoled but to little effect, It felt like someone irreplaceable had left. There was no turning back, he had gone, It was time to face facts, time to get on. The black coffin looked so cold and morbid, My stomach turned over a million times. It all seemed so hard to come to terms with, How could one so special die so early. It felt like a bad dream, but it was real. The trauma was beginning to sink in, The early shock had taken some shifting. Life had to go on, but it would be hard, Family and friends were distraught, faith lost. The days were so sad, the nights even worse, The slightest memory and tears were shed. Time seemed immaterial, days went by. 9th February D.C. Boyle rang. Did we want the cash box and one or two other things found by the police in Phil's room? He had already asked for them to be disposed of and then felt guilty. Pam & I want to keep everything to do with Philip. Boyle doesn't understand that they won't cause unpleasant memories. The memories are painful, but that is different. I also asked for the police photos, - we will use them one day I think. Pam likes the little bits of publicity Philip's death receives as it makes it more significant. There was a piece in 'The Guardian' yesterday which we didn't know about until a friend left a message on our answering machine. I met D.C. Boyle's wife when we came up for the Inquest, upon being introduced she said "I recognise you from the television" - Now, that would have made Philip laugh. 11th February Such irony that Phil hated missing out on things and hated people being sad. I still find it all unbelievable. After my father died I felt quite numb but eventually found an animal vigour again. I realised it was happening when I began to be interested in the Christine Keeler affair. This hasn't happened after Philip's death, there is pain and not as much numbness. 12th February A good friend of ours, Robert Bertolotti died last week. He too is now buried in Pinner New Cemetery, barely 100yds from Philip. Over time, Phil will become surrounded by friends. 16th February We had a boiled egg each this evening. Pam found the egg cup she had bought to encourage Philip to learn to play the trumpet, a man lying down with the cup the bowl of the instrument. 22nd February My son-in-law Andrew has just had his 33rd birthday and so is now half my age for the first time, I'm not sure he was best pleased when I told him. It's a mathematical certainty that he will age quicker than me, in another 30 years he'll be two thirds my age and he'll catch me up in eternity. 27th February Pam received a letter shortly after Phil died from a woman who had suffered similarly some ten years previously. She told how, with time, grief may become less sharp but that the 'sadness is always there, like a quiet companion'. With time, I hope that this may be the case for Pam and me.