I Let You Go

by Clare Mackintosh

And the photos of the son I loved with an intensity that seemed impossible. Precious photographs. So few for someone so loved. Such a small impact on the world, yet the very centre of my own.

I have so few photos of my son, who died aged five weeks, that I could describe every single one to you. Only one exists of me holding him. There would be all the time in the world to take photos, right? How I wish we’d taken more.