Sat down on a bench at the park, I pulled my coat over my hands.
It was freezing but my boy was full of beans and needed to release some energy.
But at least my son Toby, now eight, was nice and warm.
Racing round, he zipped from the swings to the slide.
A boisterous little boy, he was always so full of life.
‘Look Mummy,’ he called, climbing to the top of the slide.
Determined to show off to me, I knew he could be sassy.
‘Go careful,’ I called back.
Toby could be a handful – but I wouldn’t change him for the world.
His main focus was kicking a football around with his friends. In fact, Toby loved everything about football.
And I knew that when we got home from the park, he would be straight in the garden to kick a ball around.
But only a couple days later, Toby started feeling poorly.
‘My neck hurts,’ he’d complain, his body getting more achy.
‘Don’t worry, love,’ I’d reply. ‘It could be
