Anthony was naturally bright and passed most of his exams with no work whatsoever - which gave me plenty of cause to nag at him. But he hated school - he was bullied at his grammar school and left as soon as he could. I only found out how bad the bullying was years later. At the time he suffered most of it in silence. He then went to College in Burton on Trent where he studied Construction and the Built Environment and made real friends who stayed as close as brothers for the rest of his life. He worked as a testing engineer, travelling the UK to test the strength of foundations for ferry terminals, shopping centres and bridges and then moved in to land and property surveying for a private engineering company. He was unable to carry on that work as he became ill, although it was many months before his illness had a name. Then he switched to managing a bar to help out his friends and he enjoyed this job most of all. It was close to his house in the Derby city centre which became the place where people stayed for the odd night when they couldn't get home or for longer if they had times when they needed somewhere to live and a bit of support. Anthony didn't have a partner. He met a lovely girl and a relationship was developing while he was in remission but when his cancer returned he said it would be unfair to start anything, not knowing if he would be around. He always hoped she'd wait for him (which she did) but sadly he never got better. I know she feels his loss deeply too. Anthony loved speed. When he was in remission he had a day on a skid pan which put the most enormous smile on his face. And only a month before he died friends gave him a Quad bike safari - the huge grin is evident in his photograph here. For his 24th birthday, just 6 weeks before he died, I bought him a BMW with a very loud stereo as an early Christmas present. That familiar smile was firmly in place as he showed it off to his friends and scared everyone witless. Anthony was never too busy to help his friends or family, whether it was a lift somewhere, letting them stay with him rent-free while they got their lives back together, lending them a fiver or giving them advice when they asked for it. Whenever anyone wanted a favour, they asked him. He never turned them away. When his friends argued he took them to one side and told them to sort out. He said "Life is too short, love is too precious". He was amazingly wise for one so young. He was 6'4" tall and towered over most people. He wore hoodies and had waist length hair. He listened to loud music and drove his cars very fast. He noticed that some people backed away from him because of the way he dressed but he knew not to judge people by looks. He judged the people he met by the respect and warmth they showed to him and his friends and family. He never complained about the unfairness of being ill. When one of his friends asked him "why you?" he said "why not me. It has to be someone". When I said I wanted it to be instead of him, he said "well it's not, so there!". He never complained about the treatment and he recovered quickly from the massive chest surgery he had to undergo. His respect for the doctors and nurses who looked after him was immense (but he liked it best when the hot lady doctors and nurses were on duty). When the cancer returned so quickly and I cried that it wasn't fair, he said he'd had 2 amazing months and they had made it all worthwhile. He tried hard to help me come to terms with what was happening. When the tumours stopped responding so well to the treatment and he began to grow weaker he told me "we may have to face the fact that they can't fix me this time". But he never gave up that glimmer of hope that something would come along. He passed away quite suddenly at home. He said he was feeling a little stronger and we shared a joke. I helped him to sit up and snuggled in next to him so that he could lean on me for support and he fell silently into my arms. Independent and dignified to the last. I'm pleased I could be with him, telling him quietly how much I love him and respect him. I hope that one day I'll be able to hold him again and tell him again how special he was. Shine on darling. You are still amazing. Mum