Today I found myself writing this, and then I forced myself to get dressed and go to the Park. I didn’t want to. I wanted to curl up and sleep. But I went, I walked a mile, twice around the park, one foot after the other, again and again.
I was tired, so tired.
I sat in the sun for a while, I listened to the birds singing. I asked Andrew how it was for him. I asked for his help and then I told him that in fact I don’t want him to worry about me, I would rather he looked after himself. I told him that my grief is about what he must suffered without ever complaining. That is what hurts. To think of him doing it all by himself. Oh dear Lord…
Be still for the child has heard too much, and might run away never to look back.
Be silent, so many voices, so many words.
Standing on other’s fears while they drown so that we can travel another hundred yards.
Silence is the love the child needs now.
So young and trusting and ready to take you at your words that she can have the world, that darkness only needs a light to be shined upon it, to show it for what it is.
And when the child starts to believe and smile wide-eyed at her dreams, why does the light recede and the darkness return? Who snuffed it?
No more talking, no more noise.
Be still and let the child rest, she may not be dead yet.