My youngest son, Christian John,
Suffers from schizophrenia
He suffers each day in silence
With a kind and gentle demeanour
But look deeply beyond his label
To the baby I held in my arms
To the cheeky mischievous 4 year old
who captured the world with his charms
to the bright intelligent 10 year old
Who excelled at school in his study
To the 12 year old football fanatic
Who’d come home exhausted and muddy
To the handsome carefree teenager
Who’d greet me each day with a kiss
To the son I’d lay down my life for
But the man I was destined to miss
He waded through the torment
Hallucinations and angry voices
Robbed of the sweet years of youth
And denied so many choices
He coped with public ignorance
and the pain inflicted by stigma
Accepting that mental illness
Is viewed as a kind of enigma
Because my son was sent on a journey
There were demons he had to face
Along with painful memories
He struggles each day to erase
Now he’s quiet and unassuming
But to me he stands out in the crowd
He’s the son he was always destined to be
And the one word describes my feelings and that’s
‘PROUD’