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A Guide to the Second Amendment
The Second Amendment, or Amendment II, of the United States Constitution is the amendment and the section of the Bill of Rights that says that people have the right to keep and bear arms. The Second Amendment was adopted into the United States Constitution on December 15, 1791, along with the other amendments in the Bill of Rights. The Second Amendment and the Bill of Rights were introduced into the United States Constitution by James Madison.
The Text of the Second Amendment
There are two important versions of the text found in the Second Amendment, but the only differences are due to punctuation and capitalization. The text of the Second Amendment which is found in the United States Constitution and the Bill of Rights is the following:

" A well regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the people to keep and bear Arms, shall not be infringed."
What Does the Second Amendment Mean?
The Second Amendment is only a sentence long. However, there are some very important phrases that need to be carefully looked at. Here are some explanations for key phrases in the Second Amendment.

Militia: During early American history, all males who were between the ages of sixteen to sixty were required to be a part of the local militia in their towns and communities. Almost everyone during this time used and owned guns. The few men who did not use or own a gun were required by law to pay a small fee instead of participating in the military services of their communities. These militias defended the communities against Indian raids and revolved, acted as a police force when it was needed, and was also available to be called upon to defense either the State or of the United States of America if it was needed.

Bear arms: When the Second Amendment was written, arms meant weapons. The word arms did not necessarily only mean guns, but it definitely included guns. The Second Amendment did not specifically explain what categories or types of arms nor did it list what weapons were considered arms. When you bear arms, this means you physically carry weapon. You may have arms in your home as well as on your person.

Shall not be infringed: The Second Amendment does not grant any right to bear arms. Furthermore, the rest of the Bill of Rights does not describe any right to do so. These rights are thought of as natural rights or God-given rights. In the Bill of Rights, the Second Amendment is just a reminder to the government that they should not try to stop people from having this right.

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A Guide to the Second Amendment The Second Amendment, or Amendment II, of the United States Constitution is the amendment and the section of the Bill of Rights that says that people have the right to keep and bear arms. The Second Amendment was adopted into the United States Constitution on December 15, 1791, along with the other amendments in the Bill of Rights.

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3 photos from your compendium Crime and Violence

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Home - Moms Demand Action | Moms Demand Action

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Moms Demand Action is a grassroots movement of Americans fighting for public safety measures that can protect people from gun violence.

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There are countless stories of how teens have had their lives ruined due to joining a gang at a young age; of how they neglected their education; of how hard it was for them to get a job with a criminal record; of being betrayed by their fellow gang members; of their loved ones being killed.

According to the Metropolitan Police, there are:

171 gangs in London that claim a separate territory;

6% of 10-19-year-olds belong to a gang in England;

98% of gang members are male;

60% of shootings in the UK are linked to gangs.

Senior police officer, Nick Ephgrave, says that gangs are not an 'epidemic' but a 'stubborn problem' that shows no sign of going away. "There are many groups of young people who define themselves by their postcode and will only move to different areas with the protection of their groups."

Gwenton Sloley, a former gang member who now works with young people in the London Borough of Hackney, says, "Gangs have been around for centuries. You're not going to eradicate them."

Having explored gang-related forums online I discovered that, when joining a gang, there is often an initiation that needs to be completed as proof that you are worthy. This initiation usually relates to committing an act of violence. When it is done, you become an official gang member.

Donna was required to stab someone and commit other crimes, in order to get 'reputation' and prove her loyalty to the gang leader

In one story I read, a girl (Donna) was tricked into joining a gang (what she referred to as a 'family') who encouraged her to bunk off school and do illegal activities.

Donna was required to stab someone and commit other crimes, in order to get 'reputation' and prove her loyalty to the gang leader.

She mentioned how she had been arrested multiple times, and eventually got jailed for three years. Being in a cell for all that time, Donna realised who her real family was, as the gang members did not visit, did not send money or write any letters. Only her real family stood by her.

Donna wanted to leave the gang but she knew they would target her so she still has to be in contact with them. However, she refrains from committing any more crimes, and spends all her time with relatives or in school.

Donna has realised that the thrill of rebellion and proving her loyalty was not going to get her anywhere in life, and how her criminal record is going to make it so much harder for her to get a job.

Several former gang members have similar stories of being in a gang: "You'd either end up in hospital, or six foot under."

Many young people are pressured into joining gangs by their older siblings, cousins or friends. There are many ways to prevent this. There websites below provide different forms of help.

Childline - Gangs - Worried About Violence?‎
Gangsline
Gangs and young people - NSPCC

See Exposure's hard-hitting film about gangs:

Jesse is studying business at Westminster Academy. He is interested in technology and art and is looking to get a job as a robot programmer.

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Joining a gang will ruin your life | Exposure

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There are countless stories of how teens have had their lives ruined due to joining a gang at a young age; of how they neglected their education; of how hard it was for them to get a job with a criminal record; of being betrayed by their fellow gang members; of their loved ones being killed.

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A recent crime survey for England and Wales found that, since the mid-1990s, the number of offences has fallen by half. The survey was based on the experiences of the victims, rather than the perpetrators.

It is astounding that the number of young people who commit crime between the ages 10-17 has dropped by 84% since 2006. The number of adults has declined also but only by just 46%.

Young people are committing less crime because items that they used to steal, like televisions and mobile phones, have fallen in value. So they are no longer worth stealing.

Also security measures such as anti-theft alarms have made it more difficult to get into homes.

The survey also found that, young people who admitted to experimenting with drugs fell by half, between 2001 and 2014.

Tim Bateman of the University of Bedfordshire argues that less drug taking means less crime.

"Children are less likely to commit crimes when they are not drunk or high. Technology may also be helping to make the world less crime-ridden. Hours spent on computers and smartphones mean fewer opportunities to get up to no good."

What I think
These figures reflect better security and health amongst young people in the UK.

I think young people are less likely to commit crimes when they are not drunk or high, because they can think clearly about what they are doing in the moment.

I agree with Tim Bateman. I think that the rates will continue to fall, as more young people are interested in staying at home with technology, so are distracted from committing crime.

Jesica is currently studying ESOL Entry 3 at Enfield College, and aspires to be a journalist in the future. Her hobbies include acting, cooking and visiting new places.

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Fewer crimes committed by youths | Exposure

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A recent crime survey for England and Wales found that, since the mid-1990s, the number of offences has fallen by half. The survey was based on the experiences of the victims, rather than the perpetrators. It is astounding that the number of young people who commit crime between the ages 10-17 has dropped by 84% since 2006.

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Statement from Ben's sister Broke Kinshella

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'The killers' families attacked us and spat and swore at us':

Actress Brooke Kinsella recounts in raw detail her brother's murder

On October 13, 2008, I saw for the first time the three men who murdered my brother Ben. They walked into a courtroom at the Old Bailey with their heads lowered, their eyes looking everywhere but at me and my parents.

I was sitting next to the dock and if I reached out, I could have touched the one nearest to me. There was no glass, no barrier - they weren't even in handcuffs. I fought the urge to jump on them, to hurt them, to scream at them and demand: 'Why?'

They were in court that day to state how they would plead. The first, Jade Braithwaite, looked ahead and said firmly: 'Not guilty.' My heart sank.

Then the second, Michael Alleyne, said: 'Not guilty,' his voice full of attitude. The third, baby-faced Juress Kika, choked on his words and mumbled so quietly that the court clerk asked him to repeat his plea. 'Not guilty,' he whispered a second time. It was then that my suspicions were realised: these men knew what they had done that night.

Kika had given away his fear and their guilt, and I prayed everybody would see it. At last, surely, I would get justice for my brother.

Ben was murdered on Sunday, June 29, 2008. He was 16. I have used many words in connection with my brother over the years --annoying and lazy among them --but never did I think I would place his name next to a terrible word such as murder.

He was stabbed to death on the day I was supposed to be moving out of our family home in Islington, North London. I didn't really want to leave but my mother Deborah convinced me to give it a try after 24 years wrapped in the soft, comfy cotton wool of a home filled with noise and laughter, love and affection.

It might not have been that way. My sister Jade and I have the same father but when I was six our parents split. Our mother brought up us alone until she met George, a taxi driver who had two children of his own, Christopher and Holly.

Over the years, George went from being my stepfather to just being Dad. And the thing I love about him most is that he gave us Ben and my 14-year-old sister Georgia. Our parents always did the best for us. Mum enrolled me at the nearby Anna Scher drama school, not because I had talent but because she hoped it would dispel my shyness.

Even when I landed a part on EastEnders, playing Kelly Taylor, I lived at home. The role was supposed to last only eight episodes but I ended up being in the BBC show for three years.

Ben never boasted that I was his sister after I became a sort of celebrity. If anything, he was embarrassed, especially when I appeared in photoshoots for some lads' magazines. Lounging around in a bikini, I would feel glamorous and sexy, but I never considered that Ben's mates would leer at the pictures.

My brother was always hardworking, a clown with a contagious laugh and a smile that could melt you. I had gone shopping the day before Ben's death, stopping at the internet cafe where he worked. I handed him a burger from McDonald's, which he ate in two bites. He said he would see me later, I gave him a kiss and walked away.

I went home that night after performing in a play in Hackney to find the house empty except for Christopher. Mum, Dad and Georgia were away for the weekend and Jade, who is three years younger than me, was out partying. Ben, apparently, had come home from work before going back out to meet his friends.

When our home phone rang at 2.30am, I stumbled out of bed to pick it up, half asleep and half in fear. 'Brooke,' said Jade. 'Something's happened to Ben.'

'What?' I whispered. There was the sound of sobbing. 'He's been stabbed,' she said.

Christopher and I got to hospital at 3am after waiting for what seemed an eternity for a taxi to arrive. I remember kneeling in the road outside my house, crying and praying for the cab to hurry up, for Jade's words to be a big mistake, for my brother to be OK.

As we arrived, Jade fell on me, sobbing. I begged her for information but she knew nothing more. A friend who had been at the scene had called her with the news that Ben had been stabbed. By this time, my parents were rushing along a motorway, desperately trying to reach the hospital.

A nurse told me that Ben had a stab wound to his stomach, two to his lungs and one in his chest that had punctured his heart.

My parents got to the hospital at 4.30am, by which time my boyfriend Ray had also arrived. Georgia, Ben's best friend and mortal enemy rolled into one, looked heartbroken.

The surgeon came in to see us. He said Ben had lost 30 pints of blood - the average young boy's body holds seven pints. After thanking him for his efforts, someone in our group asked the surgeon about Ben's chances of survival. 'Fifty-fifty,' he replied.

A nurse then took my parents to Ben's bedside but they returned to our waiting room just five minutes later - his condition had begun to deteriorate. Ten minutes later, the doctors came in and uttered the words that will haunt us forever: 'We're really sorry but we think he is going to die. You'd better come.'

Everyone in that room screamed. Half of us sank to the floor, our legs unable to hold the grief - the other half started lashing out, kicking walls and tables in fury. Mum and Dad were rushed in to see Ben and the rest of us descended into silence.

After ten minutes, the nurse came to the waiting room and by the look on her face we all knew what had happened. 'Is he gone?' I asked.

'Yes, I'm sorry,' she replied. The nurse led us, Ben's brother and sisters, to a cubicle to see his body. Nothing could have prepared me for the change death brings to a person, even within five minutes. Ben was gone and in his place was a cold, hard, yellow shell with an expression on his face that suggested anger, upset and pain.

Mum rubbed his feet and hands to warm them up, I blew on his freckled nose and everybody else stroked and kissed him, trying to absorb as much Ben as they could.

You would think that touching a dead body would be repulsive, but it's not when it's one of your own. If I could, I would have taken his body home and hugged it every second I could - rather that than nothing at all.

When we arrived home from hospital later that Sunday, I wandered around the house looking for Ben, but the living room was empty, with only a Benshaped dent in the cushions to remind me.

My sisters and I went to his room to soak up whatever he had left there. The smell of his aftershave was heavy in the air.

Jade put on his clothes. Georgia buried her head in his pillow and cried herself to sleep, unable to understand why her big brother was gone. And I chose a sock. That stinky, sticky sock was the strongest thing smelling of Ben I could find. I wore it like a glove puppet, rubbing it like a charm, wishing it would bring him back.

If I woke in the night and couldn't find it, I cried until it was back on my hand. I probably cried more for that stupid sock in those first few days than I did for its owner.

The police told us what little they knew at that point. Ben, who had just finished sitting his GCSEs, had gone to a pub called Shillibeers in Islington that night with friends. A fight had erupted inside and then spilled out on to the street. My brother may have been among the people who went outside to see what was going on.

As it was near the end of the night, the bouncers refused to let anyone back in. Now locked out of the pub, my brother began to make his way home, walking up the road with a few other boys. One of them looked back and realised they were being chased. Ben and his group began to run along a long road and around a corner. At some point, my brother stopped running. For some unknown reason, he crossed over to the other side of the road. Whoever was chasing Ben and the others saw my brother as the easier target. They caught him behind a van and stabbed him, leaving him on the pavement to die.

It's a miracle Ben's heart did not stop on that cold pavement --somehow he found the strength to stand up and walk around the corner. One of Ben's friends was one of the first to find him. Ben was heard to say: 'I'm cold... I can't breathe.'

By the next day, police had arrested two of the boys they suspected of being the killers, while a third youth handed himself in later.

Word about Ben's death spread rapidly and one of his female friends quickly organised a march. Almost everybody there was wearing a white T-shirt to signal peace - some of the shirts even featured a picture of Ben's face and some had messages of love. Marchers also held aloft a gigantic banner which simply said: 'Why Ben?'

If I thought that one march was going to be the end of it, I was wrong. That was only the start of a campaign to bring an end to Britain's knifecrime culture that grew so big it succeeded in changing lives and forcing the Government to review sentencing guidelines for murders committed with knives.

We weren't able to bury Ben until almost three weeks after he had died because the defence lawyers kept asking for more tests to be done on him, including having the skin from his hands peeled off to look for scientific clues that might help their case.

We were finally allowed to bury Ben on July 18, the day before my 25th birthday. We chose St John's Church in Duncan Terrace, Islington, because it held 1,000 people, but even that wasn't large enough to accommodate all those wishing to pay their respects to Ben. Those who couldn't fit inside the church lined the streets outside.

As the service ended and the coffin was lifted to be taken out of the church, we played our final song for him. We had chosen Calvin Harris's I Get All the Girls - one of Ben's favourites, despite him never getting all the girls. The church erupted when the music began to play --people were laughing, crying and dancing in the aisles.

The sight of my brother's coffin being lowered into the ground will always haunt me. All I wanted to do was jump down into the grave and stay with him - anything to stop him being alone in the cold and dark.

Amid the grief of those first few months, there were occasionally some pleasant surprises. Ben's headmaster turned up with my brother's GCSE results - A-stars in art and English, and As and Bs in every other subject. Ben had been promised £100 for every A-star. I know how he would have jumped up that morning, impatient to claim his prize. He would have been smiling with excitement while at the same time trying to act cool.

My initial solution to coping with grief was simply to get drunk and cry myself to sleep, then start all over again the next day. Three months after Ben's death, however, I began to worry I was starting to forget him, feeling guilty because I was crying less. The first time I really laughed I hated myself. The first time I enjoyed eating something I almost vomited it back up. The first time I concentrated on a TV programme without thinking of Ben, I wanted to die.

I was seriously going to do it. It was just a question of finding the right time and the right way so that my family wouldn't suffer. I knew they would be angry with me but once everything had calmed down and they realised one of us was with Ben, they would feel better.

I stopped wearing my seatbelt while in a car, I drove recklessly, I walked down dark roads late at night praying to be attacked - I was tempting fate as much as possible, but it really didn't matter. If God didn't help me, I knew I would do it myself.

Then one day I was out with Georgia, trying to cheer her up. Something stupid I said made her smile and then laugh, shocking me into reality. I couldn't leave her, too.

I was also amazed at Mum's strength. She dealt with her bad days by going off to have a 'nap', which was really a little cry, before coming back downstairs with her 'Mum face' on. But she couldn't face returning to her job as a secretary at a school, where there were children the same age as Ben. It also went deeper than that - she practically became agoraphobic.

Dad didn't work either. As a taxi driver, he occasionally had to deal with rowdy passengers. He was angry enough - he didn't need a confrontation to set him off.

Mum eventually persuaded the council to move us to a new house. My parents' bedroom was opposite Ben's and every morning they had to wake up and look into their son's empty room.

The day came when we each had to take something from Ben's room to remember him by. The rest of his belongings were to be put in boxes and stored.

I started in his wardrobe, where his clothes still smelled of him even five months on. I chose my favourite jumpers - one that he wore at Christmas and the one he was wearing the last time I saw him, the last time I hugged him.

Finally, as I went to leave, I looked up at his shelf. I debated whether to take some aftershave to remind me of his smell but there was little left in the bottle - hardly surprising given the amount he used to splash on to impress the girls.

At the back of the shelf, I spied Ben's toothbrush and took it down, amazed that I nearly walked away without this treasure. I know he will be cracking up, wondering why I would want his old toothbrush.

Mum and Dad threw themselves into painting my flat as well as their own new house, getting everything ready for our first Christmas without Ben.

We tried our hardest that Christmas Day but instead of jumping up at 7am as usual, we lay in bed crying. There was no rush to open our presents, no excitement. We toasted Ben at the dinner table, then went our separate ways, unable to put on brave faces.

The months leading up to the Old Bailey trial on April 27 this year were some of the hardest I have experienced. I was depressed and it didn't help that I had nothing to do, despite auditioning for various parts. I became selfish and angry, taking everything out on Ray, who had moved into the flat with me. Mum and Dad were beginning to fall apart and my sisters became withdrawn.

Then one day I finally snapped while Ray and I were having an argument. I remember kicking the furniture and being unable to speak. Apparently, I went into the kitchen and picked up a knife and tried to lock myself in the bathroom with it.

I'm not sure what I was going to do but Ray took it off me and calmed me down. I knew something had to change. I couldn't keep hurting people. I had to fix myself up to face the trial.

My family had previously been shown around the Old Bailey to get us ready for the coming weeks. We also met lawyers representing us and Ben. But nothing really prepared us for that first day. As we battled through the crowds of reporters at the court entrance, I realised the trial was going to be huge.

Each day I came out of the courtroom with my head pounding. Listening to the evidence from eyewitnesses and forensics experts, it seemed to be an open and shut case. But the icing on the cake was the covert recordings police had made of the defendants as they travelled to court and ID parades in a prison van.

Their words were vile but invaluable. Not only did they speak about how they had committed the murder, they discussed getting rid of knives, made up alibis, planned to 'sort out' witnesses and joked as if the whole situation meant nothing to them.

It was sickening to hear them describe in their street slang how they had killed Ben, saying it was a 'quick ting, go down the road, boom boom, ghost, back up'. 'Ghost', as we would discover, meant 'gone' or 'dead' - so the culprits knew instantly what they had done that night. They had intended to kill someone all along.

Some members of the defendants' families made our ordeal a hundred times more difficult. I never expected help from them, but I wasn't prepared for the intimidation, violence and pure nastiness of certain relatives.

To physically attack my friends and family, to spit on them and call them 'scum' and other disgusting names, to sing 'who let the dogs out' as we walked by, to have the audacity to tell my dad to 'walk away and have respect' - I could never understand any of it. Their behaviour was despicable. Yet every time we reported them to the court security staff and our police liaison officer, we were told that CCTV footage showed nothing.

Events came to a head the day that one person apparently said about my brother: 'So what? He's dead anyway.' These words were said to one of Ben's best friends and when he lost his temper and began shouting, a male relation of one of the defendants grabbed him by the throat and threw him against a wall. Once again we complained, but this intimidating thug was back at court the next day.

As if to add insult to injury, my sister Jade was warned she wouldn't be allowed in court if she was caught looking at the men who had killed her brother. Yet their families could physically and verbally attack us with no consequences. It seemed wrong. It was all about giving the defendants a fair trial - but when would anyone recognise the injustice done to us?

Certain things stick in my mind from those seven weeks of the trial. Hearing witnesses talk about Ben's wounds. Listening to a description of the way his blood splattered on the road. Discovering Alleyne had 72 specks of Ben's blood on his jeans.

The court was told that Braithwaite, 20, was involved in the original fight at Shillibeers that night and had been chased away. Unable to handle being 'disrespected', he had called Alleyne, who arrived with Kika just as Ben and his friends were looking for a cab. The defendants had shouted that someone 'was going to die' that night.

A witness testified that my brother said: 'Why are you coming to me? I haven't done anything wrong,' before he was kicked in the stomach, punched and stabbed 11 times.

The jury spent two days deliberating their verdicts - for most of that time we sat outside a cafe near the court. Then on June 11, Mum got a call to say we should make our way back to court immediately because verdicts had been reached.

The court was packed yet you could have heard a pin drop as the foreman of the jury, dressed in his best suit, stood up. In the second it took him to reveal the verdict on Braithwaite, I nearly passed out in fear. There were cries of 'Yes!' and then cheers from the public gallery as he said: 'Guilty.' Alleyne, 18, and Kika, 19, were also convicted.

Sentencing was adjourned until the next day but we had been warned that the minimum tariff for murder with a knife was 15 years and it was unlikely the defendants would get more than 18. I was hoping for 25 years or more.

At court before the sentencing, Mum had been brave enough to read out an impact statement describing the pain of losing her son. 'The people who murdered him knew nothing about our Ben, not a hair on his head, a bone in his body, not anything about our wonderful son,' she said.

'They had never met him before or spoken to him - they just cruelly took his life away with knives for no apparent reason. We had brought Ben up to always walk away from trouble. This sadly cost him his life.'

The judge then ordered the defendants to serve a minimum of 19 years before they become eligible for parole. As the trio were led from the dock to begin their sentence, the public gallery broke into applause. The defendants sneered and made gun gestures with their hands, while their families shouted abuse and spat.

One aspect of the law angered us. The tariff for murder with a knife starts at 15 years, but if you use a gun it starts at 30 - is there much difference between these two deadly weapons?

Ben is dead. He is never coming home. My parents have lost their son. My siblings and I have lost our cherished brother. Ben has lost his future.

On the first anniversary of Ben's death, around the time he was attacked, I made my way to that haunting spot to light a candle. When I arrived, there were so many people standing there with their own candles that the road was lit with twinkling lights. It looked so peaceful that it was hard to imagine the violence that occurred there a year ago.

I went home to my family and we stayed up late, talking about Ben. I know we all thought about giving up, to end the pain and to be with Ben, but we didn't let them beat us.

If I could talk to Ben one last time, I would tell him he was the best little brother a girl could ask for. That he made my life so much fun and no one will make me laugh like he did. That I love him more than he could know and wish I had told him so more often.

For now, I am grateful for the time I had with him. If you told me we could have been spared all this pain, that Ben could have been spared his suffering just by never being here at all, I would still take it.

I would go through every day of heartbreak again just for the privilege of being Ben's sister.

Why Ben? by Brooke Kinsella, is published by Simon & Schuster on September 3, priced £7.99. To order your copy at £7.99 with free pp, call the Review Bookstore on 0845 1550713.

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'The killers' families attacked us and spat and swore at us': Actress Brooke Kinsella recounts in raw detail her brother's murder

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On October 13, 2008, I saw for the first time the three men who murdered my brother Ben. They walked into a courtroom at the Old Bailey with their heads lowered, their eyes looking everywhere but at me and my parents.

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Statement from Ben's mother Deborah Kinsella

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The 16-year-old schoolboy was stabbed 11 times in York Way, Islington, and died shortly after. In a victim impact statement read out to court, Ben's mother Deborah Kinsella described how the murder has affected their lives.

I make this statement and the feelings and emotions are felt by all my family but no amount of words could ever express the daily pain we feel for the loss of Ben.

On 29 June 2008 our beautiful son Ben was brutally and savagely stabbed to death. We as his family have been left devastated and in total despair.

Our whole world has been totally turned upside down. Ben went for a good night out and never came home again.

Ben had only just finished school - a straight-A student, he had a job and had got his place in college (he never learnt of the wonderful exam results he had achieved and worked so very hard for).

Ben loved life, he loved living and he had so much to live for. He knew where he was going and where he wanted to be.

Ben loved nothing more than to make people laugh, he was a fun-loving, happy-go-lucky boy with a heart of gold and would do anything for anyone. A testimony of this was his funeral that was attended by so many friends who filled the church and pavements outside.

Ben loved art and wanted to be a graphic designer, he loved his family, cooking, football, music and girls.

The people who murdered him knew nothing about our Ben, not a hair on his head, a bone in his body, not anything about our wonderful son. They had never met him before or spoken to him - they just cruelly took his life away with knives for no apparent reason.

We had brought Ben up to always walk away from trouble. This sadly cost him his life. He walked away to get safely home and they took advantage of that - he was one boy on his own. It seems unfair their intent was to stab someone that night.
'Boy thing'
We were a big, happy, loving family (we are one down, one missing). We are hard-working and just wanted the best for all our children in life. There are now just three of us at home.

We have had to move house because it broke our hearts to not see Ben in his bedroom curled up sleeping and safe in his bed. We so miss Ben's love and laughter and most of all the boy thing in our family.

Ben was our precious son that we cherished and were so immensely proud of, and by the way we had brought him up.

He had values and respected everyone he met. We as a family will never know the man he would have become, the wife he would have met and the children he would have had.

This has all now been taken away from siblings, his grandmothers, aunts, uncles, cousins, friends and us.
No parent or sibling should ever have to go through or see what we have seen with our son. He died in front of us, we then had to visit him in a morgue, the undertakers and finally to bury him.

We can now only visit Ben at a cemetery, our beautiful son who so loved life.

We cry every day for the loss of Ben, we do not sleep like we did before. Nearly a year on our nights are still filled with nightmares, of our son's last moments and what he went through that fatal night.

Our lives will never be the same - we have all been so deeply affected.

We as a family will never get over the loss of our Ben. We are just trying to get through it. Our family now face a lifetime of feeling this way.

Nothing we can say or do will ever bring Ben back. All we can hope and pray for is that justice will prevail, maybe then we can find some form of closure to this awful event that has devastated our family's lives.

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The 16-year-old schoolboy was stabbed 11 times in York Way, Islington, and died shortly after. In a victim impact statement read out to court, Ben's mother Deborah Kinsella described how the murder has affected their lives.

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Lyricstraining

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Kelly Rowland - Stole | Music Video, Song Lyrics and Karaoke

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Learn English in a fun way with the music video and the lyrics of the song "Stole" of Kelly Rowland

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Youtube
What is the song about?
Who are Mary and Greg?
Why do you think it happened?
Write you answers in your compendium or in OneNote.

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© Kelly Rowland - Stole (+ lyrics) COMMENTATE!