Earlier this year I found myself speaking at the White House. It was a rather unbelievable experience, but it was bittersweet. I wouldn’t have ended up there if my son, Harry, was still alive.

In 2005 I watched as Harry packed up his green rucksack and prepared for the trip of a lifetime – four months volunteering in Ghana, West Africa. I had bought him all the essentials: a stash of condoms, headache tables and antimalarial drugs – everything I could think of. We were all very excited for him.

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