So how is the Cherub doing?
No idea. Really. I'm his mum and I HAVE NO IDEA.
But then I have no idea how he's supposed to be either. If this is "A Journey" as so many would have us believe, the best that can be said is that it's certainly a journey without maps.

He was close to his dad. It was W who looked after him each day after school, and W who took him to badminton, football, rugby matches.
His dad was also much better than me at playing on the XBox. But so far he hasn't cried much.

He was crying quietly as he held his dad's hand on the last couple of days, but trying not to let W see. The night his dad died, he cried just a little bit. At the funeral he didn't cry at all. But then I don't know if he should. He is 13 years old, and most adults prefer to do their crying in private.

On the night his dad died, he sat up with myself and Sparkle till about one in the morning. Then we sat up in his bed reading old picture books and Dr Seuss. He was sleeping when his dad's body was carried out. Luckily. Because they had trouble getting the stretcher through the hall.

And since then, you know, he keeps on going. We've looked out a picture of his dad for his room. We avoid watching TV programmes which remind us of W - Family Guy, The Wire (W had just got addicted, but never got to series 4). The Cherub is resolute in NOT wanting to go visit his dad's old flat. But equally upset if he hears of photos and things being given away.

I don't know how much of this "being OK" is a front, and how much is his still being in shock at what happened.

This week he's been laid up on the sofa. He has a temperature, no appetite, and no interest in anything other than old DVDs and telly.

I think it's finally caught up with him.