My Son, Blib.

In the weeks following the death of my son Tony aged just Thirteen, I started writing his memoirs as cathartic therapy in an effort to make some sense of the turmoil I was experiencing and to contain the anger I was feeling.
Tony was to experience many prejudices in his life. Bullied from a young age, racism and from the age of nine, he was to live as a diabetic that proved to be brittle and diffic...