Letter to...

Dear Eddie,

Although you're only in the next room right now, I thought I'd drop you a line. Thought I'd write a belated letter, to let you know how proud of you I am – something you should know by now, but perhaps don't.
There aren't that many young lads your age who've seen and done the things that you have; who've had the guts to go off travelling, and the savvy to get by. Most people never experience in a lifetime what you've managed to squeeze in already, and yet you're so down to earth, so mellow, so relaxed about it all.

A high, but underachiever at school, I remember one history teacher writing in your report:
'Eddie is so laid back in class as to be virtually comatose...'

In spite of your academic antipathy – choosing to merely coast along rather than apply yourself at any stage – you still managed to come through your GSCE's at fifteen, catching a plane to Denpasar the following week. Rather than revising, weekends prior to your exams were spent picking daffodils to save up the airfare, and reading a battered Rough Guide to the entire Indonesian archipelagos. I wouldn't call that laid back – not when you're getting up at 6am to work a back-breaking job in all weathers; banking the proceeds for a purpose.

I still, to this day, can't understand why I let you do it. Why, as a mother, I allowed you to go. When you first talked to me about the possibility of heading off on a surf mission with some mates, the plan was to take a van to France. One of them was 19 and had a license, so it sounded vaguely feasible. But somehow the plan evolved. Somehow the end destination turned into Bali.

Maybe I didn't think that it would actually happen – that none of you would get your acts together to make it happen. But soon we were discussing dates and kit-lists; malaria tablets and vaccines; insurance and visas. At one point I booked all four flights on my debit card, as none of you could do on-line transactions, so I should have known then that it was real. Should have thought through the implications of waving you goodbye.

Dropping you off at Penzance bus station to catch the National Express coach to Heathrow, it finally hit me – the enormity of letting you out into the big wide world. And you, still only a child. Ring me every week, I pleaded. Let me know that you're ok, I mouthed as the coach pulled away from the terminal. Stay safe, I prayed.

A text message two days later said that you'd arrived, and had all decided to hire a car for a week. The text message the following week informed me that Jack had broken his wrist, and that you were pretty scratched up with a possible broken thumb. Heading over to a jungle camp in Java, you promised to contact me in another weeks time.

I tried ringing the mobile number straight back, but it didn't seem to be working. I waited a week. I waited another week, but still no word, no news at all. For this trip, you were only away for a month, so there was just one more agonising week of waiting before you were due home.

What would I do if you didn't get off that plane? How would I go about tracing you, searching for you, if you failed to come back and I'd still heard nothing? On the day your flight was scheduled to return, I died a thousand tiny deaths. Tortured myself for being the most irresponsible, reprehensible, wickedest mother ever. The phone call I eventually received from you was sweet relief – my tears, sweet release.

The maelstrom of emotions – fear, uncertainty, anger, despair, panic – melted the minute I saw you. Unimaginably grown-up, impossibly tanned, wearing a conical rice-paddy hat and an ecstatic grin, you hugged me so hard my breath went. Thanks mum you said. Thank you so much. I've just had the best time ever. It was so amazing, thanks for letting me go.

Since then you've been back to Indonesia twice. Each time you've ignored my advice about hiring motorbikes and last year came a cropper. (At least you rang me that time, even if it was just to ask me to send you some more money)! You dropped out of college two years ago to pick the flowers again full-time, and went, on your own, to Australia for two months. Travelling, surfing, partying – your idea of heaven, and to be honest, I didn't think you were coming back. The prospect of starting college again (my conditions) wasn't one you were looking forward to.

But come back you did, via Hong Kong, and although it's been tough, you'll be taking your A-level exams this June, and will finally be free. Free to pursue your dream of being a professional bodyboarder. The UK's under 18 champion last year, with two trips to Portugal under your belt, and another jaunt to Oz last summer, you're nothing if not determined.

I've tried my best to support you, but being on my own with your three younger siblings to deal with, hasn't been easy (I'm kind of spread a little thin)! I wish I could afford to buy you the proper kit, pay for professional photo shoots, source better sponsorship, help you with airfares... but I can't, and I'm sorry. But to your credit, you've made your own path; earning a lot of respect from your peers along the way. And a lot of respect from me too. I have nothing but admiration for what you've achieved Eddie. At only eighteen, you're a fine young man indeed.

I expect you won't be around too much longer. With grand plans to leave as soon as the summer's over, I'll have to let go for good next time. It'll feel weird, knowing that I won't be seeing you again for months, maybe even years. But wherever you are, I'll always be proud of you are – will always love you and feel honoured that you're my son.

xxxMum

19.03.07