It was around six thirty on a sunny 11th September 2010 night, when the police came to my business to break the tragic news they had to tell me. My 22 year old son Andy Mclean had been on his way home from the farmers market where he worked every week when a French driver on the wrong side of the road ploughed into his Vauxhall Nova killing him instantly. I could not believe what they were telling me and told them over and over again there must have been some mistake but they assured me they were 99% convinced it was Andy. They then asked me to come with them to make a formal identification of my boy, as ,being his dad, I was next of kin. The 30 min drive to the police mortuary seemed an eternity; so many things to do; so much I had to hold myself together for; how could I break this news to his mother; partner and his beloved Gran? I had to know and be sure it was him before I did anything. All too soon we had arrived and I was an emotional wreck. I was shown in to the viewing room and it was undoubtedly my oldest son Andy. I wept uncontrollably as the police let me have just a few minutes with him - separated by a pane of glass. My mind thought back his 22 years over that few minutes we spent together; his birth; bathing him; putting him to bed; watching him grow from a baby to a boy to a man. The pain and grief I felt in trying to tell the family what had happened devoured me and I could no longer hold back my hurt, anger, disbelief and when the tears came they didn’t stop. Andy was at the happiest time of his life when he was taken from us. He was an apprentice mechanic working with a great boss and friend. He was recently engaged, had his own place ,and was out doing what he loved most ... driving his Nova. I didn’t realise until the days in the run up to his funeral, just what a popular lad he was. The 58 sympathy cards on the table, the endless visits from people, calls, emails from New Zealand; texts and so it went on. I prayed to God that my son had not suffered and questioned him over and over again why he had to take a Andy from us. Answers I will never ever get. The funeral, I don’t remember too much about. I stared at his lovely coffin throughout the service, my mind playing his life over to me like a video; the flowers; the 300 people that attended; and finally laying him to rest in the cemetery. I thought of my fortunate 44 years and how my son would never be married, have kids or enjoy life as I had and I was so angry at God for not taking me and give Andy his young life, as I would have gladly have died to save him. I watched my family ripped apart; their pain; their sorrow and I was powerless to do anything to help them cope. I lost myself in alcohol for days on end, I didn’t wash, shave or some days even dress. My way of coping I told myself, and the whiskey in my glass agreed, My only function in the morning ,to light my fire and find the bottle. The days spent alone I spent crying, unable to answer the biggest question on my mind, WHY???!!! I had to go to the place of the crash. I stood and looked at the beautiful scenery at the spot my son left this earth. I stood out on the road and looked in both directions... clear visibility both ways. How could this have happened? As I looked I saw an oncoming car approach me from the same direction in which Andy had been travelling from; suddenly it disappeared from sight and a few seconds later appeared again. The police had told me there was a hidden dip in the road and when Andy was in the dip, he could not have seen the oncoming car until both cars met on the crest of the hill. Then it was too late. But Andy had seen it and had steered for the verge on the left, but as the French driver was on the wrong side of the road, he also steered for the left ... straight into Andy. The questions came again, if only he had a puncture; if only he was late in getting away from the market; if only his car wouldn’t start and he had to borrow my jeep; would it have been different? It’s now nearly 3 months since my beloved son was killed and we still think of him every day. We still cry most days and the pain will never go away.