Wednesday, May 21, 2014

Involuntarily Irish

Being Irish he had an abiding sense of tragedy,
Which sustained him through temporary periods of joy.
- Yeats

It is every parent's greatest fear - having to bury one's child.  Tuesday morning, as I was settling in at the office in the wee small hours I glanced down at my telephone and discovered through the intrusion that is Facebook that an old W-H classmate of mine is confronted this week with that incalcuably sad task.  It braced me to read Barbara Wilson Moody's beautifully succinct announcement of her daughter Quincie Evangelina's death and the arrangements pertaining to her funeral.  I envisioned her heart breaking as she wrote those words.  Mine did as I read them.

A mother should not have to bury her daughter.  Especially so when the daughter is herself still a child.  She should never have to do it when her daughter is eight years old and her baby.  If the world was indeed fair, Donald Sterling would have never been born and beautiful children such as Barbara's Quincie Evangelina would live long, happy and healthy lives.  It is not fair of course.  Never has been.  Never shall be. 

My condolences to my old friend and her family during these, their worst of days.  One wishes for something to do or to say that could make these horrible days seem less so.  I have nothing.  

There is a Land of the Living
And a Land of the Dead,
And the Bridge is Love,
The only Survival, the only Meaning.
- Thornton Wilder


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