SIMON JAMES BRUNTON 19th July 1982 - 18th April 1998 Togetherness The progression of the tumour had started to have an effect on Simon, he was beginning to get very tired. We got the chance to go away for a short break at a holiday park that is just a few miles from our home. It was the same distance from the holiday park to the hospital, as it was from home to the hospital, that finally convinced us that it would be alright to go. Being on one level in a holiday chalet certainly made a refreshing change from all the steps we had to cope with at home, where Vince would give Simon a piggy-back upstairs every night because he was now too weak to pull himself up them using the two bannister rails. We didn't do very much during those few days because Simon was so tired, but we had some lovely walks, fed ducks and squirrels on the patio at breakfast-time and talked about everything and nothing, treasuring every single precious moment. We had a game of Monopoly and Simon loved it, rubbing his hands together with glee every time he managed to buy one of his favourite properties. Still giving us the 'Thumbs Up' Now that Simon could feel the effects that the tumour was having on him, the conversation inevitably turned to the possibility of losing the battle and of his passing away, we could no longer ignore the ultimate threat. Simon told us that he was going to keep fighting this thing and that no matter what happened he would always be with us. He was worried about what would happen about his fund-raising for charities, so we assured him we would carry on doing that for him. He was still far more worried about everybody else than he was about himself. We knew from previous conversations with Simon that he believed in the spirit world and life after death. Years before when I was upset over the death of my grandma, Simon came to me and said "Don't worry mum, nanny mac's still here". Puzzled, I asked him what he meant and he explained that although we do not see them, the people we love that have passed away are always with us. I asked him to explain further and he said "Well, we all live in the same place, but there is a curtain between us and them, it's a bit like a radio being out of tune, you can't quite make things out". We thought this was such a profound and beautiful statement coming from such a young child. Simon with his Great Grandma, 'Nanny Mac', during his first Cristmas Toward the end of March Simon's condition deteriorated rapidly and within a few days he was on larger and larger doses of oral painkillers. We had set two divan beds up in our living room because it had become too painful and arduous for Simon to be taken upstairs every night. As Simon was now spending most of his time in bed, we made the living room the focal point of the house. We would sit together watching TV or video's, playing games or reading, or we would huddle up beside him as he slept, whatever it took to get him through each hour. It got to the point where we couldn't keep the pain under control with the oral drugs, so he was given morphine through a syringe pump. At this point Vince and I seemed to be spending more time sorting out Simon's different drugs than actually sitting and talking with him. That was when we made the decision that we would all move in to the Rainbows Children's Hospice. On the 1st April 1998 Simon left our home never to return. Our very special children - Simon and Amy