My little boy is three hundred and sixty five days young, already! That’s three hundred and sixty five beautiful days! And every day that I can wake up to the sight and sounds of my child, is a good day! We have watched him develop, grow, explore, and take in some of the wonders of our planet. We made a concerted effort to show him as much as possible in this time because every day is a gift and our time here is profoundly short. He has visited many different places, been on numerous flights and even received a gift of a teddy bear from Aer Lingus, for his flight time. He has clocked up as many flying hours as months! We have made no effort to love him because we do this automatically and unconditionally and with the greatest delight imaginable! He is our flesh and blood and a great source of everlasting beauty that will always flow through our hearts, regardless of what the future holds.
While reflecting on all of this, I am mindful of those who are not as lucky. I am mindful of those who have lost children and those who struggle and fight to give their children a rightful and deserving place in the world. I am mindful of children who have no say or no choice regarding the environment they are brought into. No child elects to be ill-treated. No child elects to be displaced from either their parent or their home. The closest you can get to divine light, is via the presence of a child. In today’s world, in advance of conveying vitriol to those who struggle and have very little left, be thankful that you are not running for your life and the life of your beautiful children. Be thankful that you are not holding your little children in the fulcrum of abject hell on earth, or risking the merciless sea in flimsy vessels to escape the brutality and viciousness of twisted human beings. Be thankful that your children are not washing up on any shore and hopeful that they will never have the traumas and terror of war etched on their tiny innocent minds.
Regardless of your opinions, your life choices and aversions or affinities for creed or kind, there is little denying that the love I have for my little boy is no different to the love any normal parents have for their children. The struggle to find peace, comfort and a safe dwelling among those who want a better life should never be overrun by those who sit in comfort and are quick to judge. Destitution of the heart is surely the greatest deprivation of all and those who have plenty seem to have very little in the greater scheme of things.
In : Meandering Discourse