What was he to do now? Just sit, just wait and cry, tears rolling down his smooth little cheeks, making his shirt feel damp and uncomfortable. The news had come and he had drawn in a breath; so sharp, it had cut the silence which had involentarily come. His Dad had sat beside him: a limp instrument.

He knew what he would miss, the dinners and the cakes, the crisp shirts and soft sheets. The smile, that was another thing, that greeted him as he came home or out of the school gate.

They sat.

There were so many things that he would miss and his Dad would miss too - Dad was after all not capable of looking after him - what would happen to them. Would they take him away from his Father? That could not happen, Mom would not want it. She was the strongest, the element that kept them together, now perhaps, they would crumble. It was his job, but was he strong enough?

There were so many things! His Mom was everything, able to let go of him and let him live - that had been her greatess gift. Then occurred to him the strangest thing. Who would he shout at now?