Gentleness

Ten years ago today, my godson, Alex died. He was in his car but it wouldn't be right to say he died in a car crash. We don't know what happened, it might have been that he had a weakness in his aorta, where a very small tear was found.

No other cars were involved. He wasn't speeding, he didn't swerve or brake and the only mark was a scratch in the bark of the tree where the car came to rest. A mystery, an unanswered question that is so tough for his mum and dad to live with.

Alex was a gentle giant. Soft as a brush with his cats but a strong young man. He grew up driving - tractors, combines, passed his test age 17 and a week. Nothing amiss there either. He died five weeks short of his 18th birthday, happy with school, life and a place to read chemistry. Gone. In an instant.

Arriving at the farm to visit his parents, the drive was saluting Alex with row on row of glorious, gentle snowdrops. Some were transplanted to my garden, including this one (they're couple of weeks behind this year) so it had to be today's blip.

At his funeral, 'Everybody Hurts, Sometimes' by REM was played. He liked the song, drummed it and would have wanted us to find comfort in our friends, our loved ones.

And this year, the Haiti version. He would have approved. Give what you/I can, we never know what the next bend on the road will bring.