A bit brave

 If my grandson had lived, he would have been 24 today. Last year his grandma and I were with him for his 23rd birthday, as we had been each year since he was born. He enjoyed his birthday, but he seemed a bit under the weather.  That was the last time we saw him before covid took him from us a week later. It’s been a tough year, and the closer we get to the anniversary of his death, the harder it is. Despite or maybe because of his various disabilities he was an amazing young man. He received the Cornwall Award from the scouts, which is their highest honour for bravery. His exuberance for life and joy of being with people were infectious. Isaac had nicknames for everyone, and I was no exception. I was the choir man because I sang in a male voice choir. I assume that influenced his decision to join his school choir. Isaac was born profoundly deaf and later in life was fitted with a cochlear implant, but he went to every practice and every concert. We would go to his concerts to support

 I can see my adult self, standing by a child. He has his arm around the child, and they are both looking down at a hole in the floor. They did not create the hole, but they have to find a way to mend it. They know that they must work together to fill the void. Somewhere along the way, there has been a gap, a lacking, something missing, that has dominated both their lives. They need to find the missing essence that has left them bereaved. The man mustn’t pretend that all is well, and the child can’t just feel sorry for himself. Neither is to blame, and neither can be whole without the other.  Strong Yet damaged Childhood wandering. Confused and alone. Friends give purpose when shadows drift by me.   Happy to be busy. Happy to be part of a bigger reality. Happy to submerge the fear.   My friends give light, but darkness surrounds us. There is always the void that leaves me incomplete. Frightened, by unexplained emptiness. I was part of the conspiracy. A willing victi