Our last kiss GOOD NIGHT

Like so many, Sarah Grogan thought her family was invincible – until, one day, the unthinkable happened

- FIONA KINLOCH, CHARLOTTE NESBIT

I’ve always been the type of person to read tragic stories in the news and struggle not to cry. And, like a lot of people, reading about poorly children or parents losing their child has always been the hardest.

My husband, James, and son, Frankie, meant everything to me and I couldn’t imagine how others coped with such adversity. But then, two years ago, my family became the subject of one of those tragic stories.

In 2008, James, then 26, and I began dating and, five years later, we married in Dublin. We both wanted children and, while we didn’t expect it to happen quite so quickly, just a short time later, I had a positive pregnancy-test result.

‘We’re going to be parents,’ we kept repeating, elated at the thought of welcoming a baby.

Frankie was born on 23 January 2016, weighing 5lb 14oz, and every little bit of him was perfect, from his blond locks to his deep-blue eyes. The very first time I held him, I felt that indescribable love that everyone had told me about. He was healthy and safe, and wholly dependent on me and James to protect him.

As Frankie grew, we loved seeing him become a kind, cheeky little boy. He had a particular affinity for Play-Doh, and would make brightly-coloured pretend food, like a cake or an ice cream, and try to feed it to us while we laughed along, saying how yummy it was.

He loved painting, too, and with his constant smile, there wasn’t a lot he couldn’t get away with.

As Frankie got a little bit older, we enjoyed holidays to Spain and Ireland, and he loved exploring new places. In Spain, he’d only just learned to walk, and he loved wandering around the resort, clutching our hands for support. It was lovely watching him toddle along the sand and take tentative steps into the sea.