Dropping his rucksack on the floor, my son ran through the arrivals hall of Heathrow Airport and scooped me into a hug. It was February last year – and, after two years travelling Australia, Joe, then 24, was finally coming home.
He felt so strong, healthy and full of life. Now, when I look back at that moment, it brings me to tears, because all that was snatched away in a few seconds of madness.
I’d raised Joe on my own, and the two of us were a team. So, in February 2016, when he announced he was going travelling, I knew I’d miss him like mad.
Joe was a trained plasterer, and when he flew to Australia a month later, he found work easily. He called every day – although, as his mum, I still worried. In fact, I remember physically shuddering when he said he was going bungee jumping. ‘Be careful,’ I warned him, picturing him flinging himself out of a plane. But he was having the time of his life, surfing, kayaking and rock climbing.
In November 2016, I travelled to Melbourne to visit, and as he Joe with Nancy before the attack showed me around his favourite shops and cafés, I realised my boy was all grown up. He’d flown 10,000 miles from home and made a life for himself, completely on his own. When I left two weeks later and returned to Ramsgate, I was brimming with pride.
Hospital dash
When Joe finally came home and moved back in with me 15 months later, I threw a ‘welcome home’ party for friends and family to hear about his adventures.
Joe took on some plastering jobs and, a few weeks on, on 16 March, he told me he was heading to Ramsgate for a night out. But at 4am, I woke up to my phone ringing. It was Joe’s dad.
‘Joe’s on his way to hospital,’ he said. ‘He’s been attacked.’
Denne historien er fra September 23, 2019-utgaven av WOMAN'S OWN.
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Denne historien er fra September 23, 2019-utgaven av WOMAN'S OWN.
Start din 7-dagers gratis prøveperiode på Magzter GOLD for å få tilgang til tusenvis av utvalgte premiumhistorier og 9000+ magasiner og aviser.
Allerede abonnent? Logg på
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