Sunday 3 January 2016
Lament
Life, as I was yet to
know it, changed irrevocably in the early hours of the 15th of May
1969.
I was there, I am
told, at the heart of the unfolding drama. A sleeping babe, cocooned in the
blissful unawareness of early age. The deafening roar of a single bullet,
shocking and unexpected, preceding years of intrigue and speculation. Memories buried in the trauma of loss.
A head wound, self-inflicted,
brought an early conclusion to the life an unhappy family man. When viewed with
an historical eye, this in itself, was unsurprising given the family
predilection for ghastly endings. A firmly established pattern of escape from the
torture of disappointed hopes and dreams.
What may be surprising
is a life then lived in an abundance of love. Maternal familial bonds so
strengthened that what was so tragically life altering became a blessing. Gratitude for the woman with the emotional
strength to forge a future free from regret and sadness.
A thousand miles and
many years distant, what is not remembered, cannot be grieved. Do not weep for
me dear friends as mine is a tale of second hand sorrow. An occasional dim ache
for what might have been.
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