He died yesterday, nearly 15 years old. He had been battling epilepsy and on the medication developed really wobbly legs. I'm devastated and keep thinking I didn't do enough to help him. In the end he kept seeking out tiny places to hide. I had to rescue him from bushes in the garden and he got trapped behind the pipes in the bathroom and under the stairs. Did he know he was dying? I just wished I'd actually held him in my arms at that actual moment of death, but I just didn't know.
My son keeps saying, remember the happy times, but i just feel I let him down.