Yesterday we had hydro. This was Nick’s first session ‘going it alone’. There was, I think, a fair amount of trepidation. Bear in mind that, not so very long ago, Nick could not stand in the pool without being held. I know I was worried… although we talked… mainly about how perfect Faith is in every way… all the way to the hospital.

I needn’t have worried. My son went through the list of exercises alone. Standing, balancing… even walking across the breadth of the pool and backstroke up and down the length! Okay… it all still needs work. But he did it.

An hour and twenty minutes later he walked out of the pool, exhausted and critical of his efforts. It is one of the hardest things imaginable to keep hold of the simple fact that none of this should be possible. He suffered a terrible brain injury and his body reacted in the most dangerous way possible. The prognosis was heartrending and without hope… yet he continually shatters any preconceptions and achieves miracles daily.

Today we go to Oxford to the eye hospital. They will, once again, measure his eyesight. They will, once again, say there is nothing more to try… the vision is severely double, everything bounces constantly… it is too bad for prismatic lenses, the surgeries haven’t helped any more than the injections into the muscles behind his eyes. But we had to try.

And yet… he will read this. There are books on his Kindle, another on his bedside table… o what if he has to use a large font, or magnify a screen? He can see, he can read again. For a long time my bookworm of a son thought it would never be possible. It was a great grief when he could not while away the immobile hours by escaping between the pages of a book. For years he had read till lights out… then read some more by the street lamp outside his window. And it was a joy to me to share the books and tales that I loved with my son.  Even in the depths of the coma I had read to him, the familiar tales of Narnia and Aslan. To lose that was heart-breaking.

Friday we have another appointment in Oxford. A pre-op for another surgery next week to repair some of the damage caused by the muscle wasting. We don’t know if it will ‘work’, but it is worth a try. If it does, it could be the first of many such operations over the next few years.

You see, three years on, as his attacker draws close to release from prison, my son still faces the daily battle to recover, to live, to be himself again and whole. He may do so for the rest of his life. Certainly the inner scars for all of us will never completely heal.

The other day there was yet another attack in the same Bournemouth lane where Nick was stabbed. This young man did not survive and my heart goes out to his family and friends. The papers, once again, republished Nick’s story too. The only warning was a phone call from a friend to tell us that Nick’s name had been mentioned… this time the paper didn’t call.

Does anyone think this is over because my son has triumphed over so many things already? Not by a long way. And soon, we have to face the prospect that Teelin will be free, able to go about his life as he wishes, the debt to society paid.

I will ache for my son for the rest of my life. I will ache for his brother who suffered so badly through it all. No matter how proud of them I am today. They are my children. They should not have had to be hurt like this. And, logical or not, I am their mother and should have been able to protect them. Reasonable or not, I carry that guilt in my heart.

Nick will struggle for the rest of his life. He is only 28. That is a hell of a sentence.