As chattering voices and cell phone alerts assault my ears, I sink further into my seat and stare blankly out the window. I watch the hordes of people racing to see who can be the first to get their luggage together. Although in the end, no matter where you are, the fixed winners are always those lucky few close to the doors. What are they all so excited about anyway? Perhaps if I had the choice, I might stay here forever. Isolated comfort seemed far better than the cruel world I lived in. On the other hand, when on my own the pain often became too much. It bit and tore through every fibre of my being. Maybe reality's unsympathetic attitude towards me is simply a necessary distraction from the memories imprinted on my mind.

Drip, drip, drip. The monotonous sound of the old, aching drainpipe brought me away from the distant place my thoughts had led me to. I began to remember everything all over again, slowly at first then faster and faster. My memories were being poured through a sieve into my mind and the holes were becoming larger with every second that passed. I yearned for the holes to close up. It felt as if I'd been punched in the stomach as everything came back to me. I was on the rooftop of my school, cold, alone and with no intention of coming down alive.

For months I'd tried time and time again to suppress my anger, smother it with the extreme grief I constantly felt. He was gone yet all I wanted to do was to grab him. Grab him and yell at him, 'How could you do this to me, to you, to us, to everything you had?' and then never let him go. Was there really nothing else he could've done, no one else he could've turned to? Was I so untrustworthy that he could not have come to me? How could a mother be angry at her only son? Her only dead son.

Seven times I'd tried to call Adam and seven times a recorded version of Adam's voice spoke back to me. It had become too much for me, I could no longer keep my feelings hidden away. I had made a mistake, an innocent error .With one act I'd driven away two of the most important people in my life, my best friend and the boy I loved. How could something as good and pure as love cause so much destruction?

I think back to the seventeen years I'd known my only son and wonder what life would be like today if every memory I had of our lives could be altered in some kind of way. Would things have turned out differently if I'd forced him to play sport or made him spaghetti on Tuesdays instead of Thursdays? I thought I knew my boy, knew he would never carry out such an inexcusable act. Shock filtered through my body, followed closely by guilt. Inexcusable, that's what it was. I begged my mind not to stray. 'Do not ask that question,' I mutter to myself. My mind was in a faraway place, lost. It was too late now. Had I failed as a mother? I began to shake. Maybe that was it. If only I'd done things differently. 'What ifs' began to torture me. Suicide. Such an ugly, ugly word!

As tears began to pour down my face in rhythm with the dripping drainpipe I dreamt of just being normal. To be accepted. The sudden feeling of abandonment hit me hard. Wait, I suddenly sensed I was not so alone. I turned to see a dark shadow approaching me, my heart missed a beat. When I saw that familiar face it missed another one, two three'I realised I'd stopped breathing and gasped. He'd come back to me. 'I'm so sorry, you're my best friend. I didn't mean to'I knew you understood, you cared. I just knew you'd come find me.' I looked into his golden eyes, illuminated by the moonlight and prayed for things to just go back to the way they were. I didn't want to die. Not yet when there was still so much to live for. He made his way towards me and I opened my arms in expectance. My last smile pried open my mouth He was in front of me now, holding out a hand which I try and grab but it is too late, it came closer. Too close, too fast. 'Serves you right, freak,' Adam's words pierced my heart as I began to fall.

In the end it does not matter to me whose fault it was. I'd give anything to see you one last time. Stroke your face like I did when you were just a baby. I want you to tell me everything's going to be okay. Even though we both know it's not. Perhaps it's time to accept that I'm not going to ever pour your milk into your cereal again and I'm not going to wake up one morning and see your face. 'Excuse me ma'am, uh'I'm sorry but you're going to have to leave now.' I look around me. There's no one left on the plane. They've all rushed off to return to their busy lives. I stand up although I feel I have nothing to return to. Oh, how I wish I could sit back down and fly up to you.

My head was pressed against the cool, hard concrete and as I kissed the ground and the world goodbye all I could see was my mother's face.