Dawn McGurty cherished her son, Jake – here she writes him a letter...
Dear Jake,
Buttoning up your new duvet cover, I smoothed down the pillows and gathered up the dirty sheets.
‘There you go, son,’ I said softly. ‘Fresh sheets. Just in case.’
Changing your bed was a job I’d done every single week since you were born, 23 years ago. Yet as I closed your bedroom door, my heart ached. I know you’ll never sleep in your bed again.
My precious son, when you were born in April 2000, I was over the moon. Your big sister, Bethany, made such a fuss of you, too. Even as a toddler, you loved cuddles and kisses.
As you got older, you made lots of friends. But you were a homebody, too. Every time you went on a sleepover, I’d get a call around midnight…
‘Jake wants to come home. Could you pick him up?’
It always made me smile. You just didn’t like being away from me.
Through primary school, you tried all sorts of sports: football, rugby, and cricket. But your real love was horses.
I’d grown up with horses, too, and it was a passion that ran through our family. You learned to ride aged four and from that first lesson, you were hooked. It was more than a hobby for you, it was a lifestyle.
We bought you a pony called Twinkle and she became your best pal. You’d be up at 5am each morning to help me feed and muck out.
One morning, I decided to leave you to sleep in, and I went to the stables on my own. I was just carrying hay over for Twinkle, when I saw you hurrying into the yard.
‘I ran all the way!’ you grinned. ‘I don’t want to lie-in, Mum. I want to look after my horse.’
In your teens, you began showjumping. You excelled at it, bringing home handfuls of rosettes and trophies. You got a part-time job in a stable yard. After leaving school, you worked in a factory to subsidise your horse-riding.
‘I’d love to own my own stables, one day,’ you told me dreamily. I was so proud of you. I felt certain you’d achieve your goals.
On 15 July 2023, you went to a Yorkshire show with your girlfriend, Emily. That afternoon, you sent me photos, including one of you beaming in a new checked shirt.
‘Look what I’ve bought!’ you said. ‘I’m a real farmer now!’
Later, at home, you announced you had tickets to a local bar in Huddersfield, West Yorkshire.
‘I don’t really feel like going out,’ you said. ‘But I can’t let mates down.’
You didn’t really go out much and you certainly didn’t drink a lot.
‘Have fun,’ I said, as you grabbed your coat. ‘Love you.’
Your stepdad, Dave, 54, and I stayed in and went to bed early. Like most mums, I’d wak
