All grief is isolating. We cannot help but feel that we are alone in the pain and the sadness of our loss. But in many ways I have been fortunate because I have been very well supported by a partner, close friends and family who have been extraordinarily understanding, who have reached out to me and enabled me to reach out to them, who haven’t been judgmental about the struggles Tom had with drugs and alcohol. Tom’s step-brother, Mike, lives in New Zealand and was unable to attend the funeral or the Memorial Service which we were finally able to hold some 15 months after his death, but his understanding of Tom was deeply moving. This is an extract from the beautiful piece he sent to be read out at the funeral:

Tom was one of those people that everyone liked, he had charm, he was intelligent and he was kind. That’s something I wish I could tell him now, because somewhere along the line Tom became too hard on himself and I wish with all my heart I could let him know how much he meant to me, I guess what I’m trying to say is that Tom was a kind soul and took real joy in making others happy, he is probably the most selfless person I have ever met….   Tom had some struggles in life, we wouldn’t be honest to ourselves or him if we pretended otherwise but perhaps those struggles stemmed from him having such a kind heart and good nature for those qualities undoubtedly can make us vulnerable in this strange world we live in.

Mike’s tribute is a reminder that those positive qualities (which all who knew Tom recognized so well) would have meant nothing in a court of law had he been arrested for possession of a Class A drug.

His tribute was deeply heart-warming for everyone who heard it, but it wasn’t until much later that I properly realized how much pain Mike had suffered from losing his step-brother. It was much more difficult for him to reach out for the kind of support I received. With Mike in New Zealand, he and Tom hadn’t seen each other for several years. But, as is evident from his piece, the shock and the pain of losing Tom was devastating. 

It didn’t surprise me that people were so shocked to hear of his death. But I think I was surprised by how affected other people were. People talk about losing a child as being something you hope never to experience. We expect our parents to die before us, however distressing that might be. But losing a child seems unnatural and challenges our sense of self. However rich and rewarding our lives might be, our identity becomes bound up in the lives of our children. Perhaps that was why so many others were so deeply affected by Tom’s death, because it was a tragic reminder of the vulnerability of their own children. As I learnt to be more honest with myself about Tom’s use of drugs (including alcohol), others responded to me in kind. Perhaps my growing openness gave them permission to talk about the anxieties they had experienced about their own children taking drugs, however infrequently. It made me realize that many MPs will know from their own children just how common drug use is amongst young people. As a very supportive colleague and fellow campaigner in Anyone’s Child told me, there are many places in the UK where it is easier and quicker to get drugs supplied than a pizza.

It seems to me that the only way to change the current laws is through a combination of carefully reasoned argument and personal stories. Even those politicians who are wary of the tabloid press might be persuaded to at least give serious consideration to alternatives to the current system if they hear stories that resonate closely with anxieties about the wellbeing of their own children.