No, when Sophie announced it.
No, after my cancer joke.
I turned to prayer, like many, like everyone.
‘Has Tom not bothered to come?’ I jokingly asked, a few weeks later.
Affi’s mumblings silenced me, but not totally.
’Hilary’s gone to be with Jesus’ Steve said.
No! God, how?
No-one deserves that, especially not him.
Forgotten are the hundreds, thousands of
prayers, and I see him there, on Sunday evening, hours after her death.
His usual self. Amazing. I speak of
Family Guy, but he commends my piano playing.
I see him there, on Monday evening.
His usual self. Had been crying, nearly did again. Broke my heart.
Wednesday, asked me how I was doing.
Thursday, overjoyed by my presence and my gift, but had been crying.
But I think, how? How, in the midst of everything?
But my questions are forgotten, and I want to cry
but can’t really. Maybe it’s his strength stopping me.
Something I wrote after one of my close Christian friends’ Mum died of cancer. His name is Tom, and he’s 17.
His unbelievable strength and resolve has blown us all away.