“We’ll decorate the tree, bake gingerbread, and cherish photos and videos.”: Teddy’s mum shares the ways they will remember him this Christmas

Teddy was just three years old when he sadly died, after being diagnosed with a brain tumour at two. His parents knew last year would be his last Christmas. They did everything they could to enjoy those special moments with him. Georgina, Teddy’s mum, shares their story and how they will remember Teddy this Christmas…

When our eldest son Teddy was nearly two, he cottoned on to Christmas being a big thing. He called it ‘Mitt-mass’ and loved pulling baubles off the tree, singing carols and seeing his family. Teddy was very funny – he wanted more gravy on his Christmas dinner, tried English mustard for the first time and thought advent calendars were amazing. We imagined him growing up, filled with excitement for Santa, reindeer, and presents.

Tragically, our dreams were shattered in September 2023 when Teddy was diagnosed with brain cancer aged two and a half, just weeks after his baby brother, Laurie, was born. As we gathered together that Christmas, we know it would be his last.

Teddy was kind and clever, he loved ice cream, Hot Wheels, and going to nursery. His persistent vomiting was a red flag, but we never imagined it could be cancer. Despite surgeries and attempted treatment, the cancer spread, and by December, we faced the painful reality of palliative care. After months of living in hospital, the moment it became clear it would be Teddy’s last Christmas, doctors and nurses, family and friends moved mountains to get us home.

On 23rd December, Teddy’s uncle dressed up as Santa and visited him in hospital with presents. That afternoon we came home, laden with bags of oral chemotherapy, steroids, anti-sickness medication and painkillers. Teddy had been lying on his back for weeks and I said ‘Would you like to go home for Christmas?’ he sat up so quickly and shouted ‘Yes!’.

Our friends set up the tree, wrapped the presents and were waiting with Laurie when we arrived. Immediately the brothers were on the floor playing by the tree together. It was beautiful and painful to see. We snuggled up to watch movies, Teddy tucked under my arm. It was impossible to stop the silent tears rolling down my face, but I was so grateful to have him there.

On Christmas Eve, Teddy didn’t want to come down from his bedroom. A friend suggested making him a bed in the living room – so he could feel part of the action. I brought down a mattress and covered it with blankets. On Christmas Day, Teddy woke up with his stocking at the end of his bed – and we asked if he’d like to come downstairs and lie on a very special ‘Santa Bed’ to open the rest of his presents. In our matching pyjamas we cuddled in and tried to make everything feel as normal as possible. Teddy had asked for a Paw Patrol plane and a Hot Wheels monster truck, which he was able to play with a little.

Before Teddy had cancer, we enjoyed cooking together. He loved making gingerbread and eating the dough. So on Christmas Day, I made a batch, but could only find dinosaur shaped cutters. Teddy didn’t mind, he took so much pleasure in cutting out the shapes and eating the biscuits. He was also really in to pizza, I ordered him a margarita from the only pizza restaurant open on Deliveroo.

Teddy’s grandparents popped in for an hour and our friends squirrelled away in the kitchen to make us Christmas dinner, but most of the time we didn’t even notice they were there. In the days that followed, Teddy was visited by a few of his friends, they went to the shops for ice cream, cooked spaghetti and played with his cars. In-between visits, Teddy’s dad Silas and I took it in turns to cuddle up with him on Santa Bed and watch Peppa Pig. It was surreal, magical and heartbreaking at the same time.

This year, we face the terrifying prospect of Christmas without Teddy. Grief places you in two parallel universes – one where you know your loved one is gone forever. The other where it’s impossible to believe, untrue, unfair – they can’t possibly be dead. Mentally rewiring your brain is hard. At Christmas, with its rituals and memories the pain and grief get harder. Everything is a trigger and when your child dies it feels insulting that the world just carries on.

Teddy adored Laurie and often reminded me to look after him. This Christmas, we’ll honor Teddy’s memory by embracing his spirit. We’ll decorate the tree, bake gingerbread, and cherish photos and videos. Other bereaved parents have shared that the anticipation of the holiday can be more painful than the day itself. Once Christmas arrives, there’s a sense of relief as it draws to a close.

We’ve been advised to create our own traditions and prioritise our well-being. The grief will still be there, but having control over our experiences helps us cope. My heart aches without Teddy, but if we can teach Laurie to say “Mitt-mass,” it will bring us closer to his memory.