When my son died, I thought my life would end.
My tree of life would fall, uprooted from the ground.
As time passed, I realised this mustn’t be.

I made a series of art works to echo some of my feelings.

This tree became a symbol that my life could go on.
But that one section of it was forever broken.
Struck by lightning, pulled up from its roots.

And now fifteen years later, missing him as much as ever.

Forever

I celebrate that he existed, that I gave birth to him.
And know that he exists in everyone who knew him.
And every thing he made and did.