Mary shares her grief at the loss of her son due to heroin addiction

My Dear Mark,

I want to say a few words that I hope you will hear. This isn't really my last chance as I will still talk to you as I do to Nan and Uncle John.

At the moment my heart is numb and my brain weary, so it is hard to remember much apart from the last few years, but yes, I remember your birth; the pain and joy. Then my mind skips to when you were about 7 and one day you were waiting at the gate for me when I got home from work. You looked at me a bit sheepishly and told me that you had a surprise for me - you had made me a jelly. Of course I knew it was you who really wanted jelly. However, you didn't tell me that you had scalded your tummy, because you thought I would be cross.

Then I remember the times I would leave you with your Dad and I'd pop next door to see my friend June just for a few minutes break, within seconds there would be a knock at the door and a little voice saying "Is my Mum there?" Of course I never had that break.

Mark, you were my baby, the youngest of six children. Yes, I did spoil you as most mothers do their youngest. We'd talk for hours, just you and I and I would try to put your little worries (that seemed so big to you) into perspective.
Then as you grew up, that sensitive nature developed even more - so much so that you could only function in a drug induced 'dream world'. Every day that I didn't see you I would wonder where you were, were you cold, wet, lonely, hungry? I would drive round the streets looking for you but rarely found you when my heart ached to see you. In some ways, when you were in prison it was a relief to know that you were warm and dry.

As a mother I saw you as my gentle son, who couldn't face life's knocks, who would never hurt anybody. Now Mark, God has thought you have suffered enough and taken you home, no longer a lost soul but a reclaimed one.

I will always love you my son and may God keep you in his tender care till we meet again.
Good Night, God Bless.

This letter was to my son - he was 28 years old when he died. He was a drug addict and homeless. He was like many of the young people portrayed in Edges.

As most mothers, I would often think things would never happen to my children - they would not go astray, go wrong - whatever term you wish to use. Mark was the youngest of six, a gentle, sensitive child, teenager, young man. His story could be that of any son/daughter of any family. Mark always asked the prison authorities to let me know when he was with them, always sent his love, however, all I could do was hope that on release he would find the strength to become 'clean'. When I visited him in prison he was always so confident that 'this time he would beat the drugs'. Yes, the last few years of his life and death have broken my heart. I try to picture Mark happy now with my brother and mother in a place far better than the one he left. I hope one day that I will be with them again and pray that God gives me the strength to get through each day.

I have no answers to the drug problem. Who has? The best I can do is ask parents to watch for the signs, without being too intrusive and to tell children that one dose of heroin can make them an addict, then it's all downhill - perhaps even to a cold lonely death on the floor of a public toilet.