Sweeney's dad Martin passed away yesterday. Though we knew it was coming, it's still a shock and whenever I think about it, I feel like I've been hit over the head. I can't understand why time hasn't stopped, why cars are still driving on the roads, why people are still buying food at the supermarket as if nothing has happened. I turn my head and see the midday news on in the corner of the news room - why isn't this the lead story?
Life goes on. Children must be fed and clothed. Time clocks punched, pages filled.
Martin and I hadn't seen much of each other in the last year or so. I have to admit I felt anger towards him. But what is anger in the scale of things? It's nothing.
Dear Martin, do you remember the day Sweeney was born? We all cried. You held him and he seemed to know who you were. You both looked stoked you'd had this chance to meet each other finally. You were generous enough to hand him over to me for cuddles, though you looked like you could have held him forever. Do you remember when I was first pregnant, and unsure about how to work the whole thing out, and you brought Sweeney in to see me at work. You let me scoop him out of his stroller and hold him while he slept, said you'd back me to the hilt? Do you remember that beautiful French dictonary from the 1950s you found for me, with the pictures of Germans wearing SS hats? I do.
I saw a pregnant woman yesterday just after I heard the news, and I thought about all the possibilities that unborn child will have, its futures coming out of it like rays of light. I hope that the next time around Martin, you grab those futures, and that you have happiness and love and peace.