(Oscar in hospital with his new Elmo toy he fell madly in love with)
I would give anything not to be writing these words. Oscar keeps grabbing my hand every time I start to type and I’m happy for the distraction. He’s sitting here beside me, watching cartoons and digging out an array of toys. He likes to wrap his small fingers around mine while he plays. It’s a normal Sunday afternoon affair for him and he is blissfully unaware that anything is wrong. That is the only comfort my husband Lar and I have. But while he sits contentedly, my husband Lar is sorting out hospital forms and I’m wondering how to write this because just over a week ago we were told Oscar, our beautiful, talented, clever, unique little 3 1/2 year old has a brain tumour.