The ever fluctuating path of life has its unpredictable ups and downs certainly, but there is always one inevitability of which you can count on.
Sombre, isn’t it? Such a sense of finality, that I expect did not weigh quite so heavily on my uncle’s mind as he left his house today than it does now. Off to work, the same routine that’s taken place for the best part of 50 years, only to be involved in a series of events which led to being hit by a car going twice the speed limit in a quiet suburban street; struck down ten steps from his front door, from his family. Left in the road by a coward, a man who will no doubt be scanning the local paper come morning to see if he has committed a deadly sin.
It was his 70th birthday the weekend but last, not a man for commotion he took the celebrations in stride, embarrassed by the whimsy of an extended family gathering - I hope there is not need to see such faces again soon.
My mother sombre in our unlit parlour, wailing at what may yet come to her brother, my father, in the kitchen; undoubtedly thinking of the loss of his own brother in a house fire not so long ago.
And I, an angry young man, for all that I am, for all that I think I am… I am not a comfort to these folks, unable to connect. I sit in my room and I seethe and I write.