Opening up a small plastic tub, I shake out some of the contents into the sea.
‘Go see the world, Jack,’ I whisper as my son’s ashes dance away in the wind.
I’m determined to help my boy see the world, just like he’d always wanted. Jack was just 16 when he took his own life, and not a day goes by when I don’t torture myself with what-ifs. What if I’d done more to support him? What if I’d checked in on him more? What if I’d left his dad sooner? Because I can’t help but blame my relationship with his dad for everything.
‘WE NICKNAMED HIM JACK SPARROW’
I’d lived in fear of Darren for years. My son,
