‘How could I make him better?’ Brandishing a knife, the young boy lunged towards me, his eyes full of rage. ‘Please don’t do this,’ I begged, the tears falling down my cheeks.
I tried to reason with him but it was no use. And as he edged even closer I looked into his eyes – and they were the same blue as mine…
As soon as my son Michael* was born, in September 1999, I knew he was different. While his brother, James*, then two, would sleep soundly in his bed, or giggle at his favourite cartoons, Michael would fill the house with screams. And when he learnt to walk and became more mobile, his tantrums worsened – he’d throw himself on the floor and, if I tried to soothe…
