Tragedy

Today something terrible happened while I was walking south of Bollington in Cheshire. It happened in the Derbyshire town of Chesterfield which is just eight miles south of Sheffield.

It happened in the maternity unit of the local hospital. And yes, you may have guessed it already. A baby died.

The father is someone I have known since he was four years old. In primary school, he was my son's best friend and he came to this house countless times to play or to eat.

The last time I saw him - which was about a month ago - I said, "I am looking forward to seeing your baby James. I hope all goes well and that you have a beautiful, healthy child in your arms. It won't be long now".

They didn't want to know the baby's gender before he or she was born. That would be a beautiful  surprise as it has been for zillions of parents through the ages.

James's girlfriend went into labour on Friday afternoon. The unborn child was judged to have been growing healthily for forty weeks. But this morning, for whatever reason, it was announced that the baby had died in his/her mother's womb - fully developed and ready to live. However - it was not to be. The dreams, the imaginings and the hopes were over.

I suspect that by now the lifeless babe will have been coaxed out of the womb by medical means. It is such a shit, such a bugger, such a tragedy and I feel awful for James and the lady he usually refers to as his "missus". She was going to be a brilliant mother.

Even the early death of a foetus through miscarriage is tragic but to carry a baby full term and lose it is horrendous. I will go to sleep tonight thinking of that baby and wake thinking about him or her. James and his lady would have loved the unborn child entirely and with all their hearts. What more can I say? 

R.I.P.

from Yorkshire Pudding https://ift.tt/ZYvfcNm

View

 Good morning from a rainy South Carolina where the soul wakes up to worship. The grass grows, the cows sing as I sit with steaming coffee. The chickens peck insects and scurry for scraps. My little composters. The old man that is my dog lazily comes to my lap. I rub behind his ears as he purrs almost cat-like reveling in the attention. I look out at my own personal piece of earthly heaven, and I wonder how I could be so lucky. 

Blessed that my pasture looks like my own Augusta National. I feel like finding a driver and a golf ball. Let my backyard be a playground for frivolity. Dreams of a Woods-like follow through are in my mind, as swings are made, but not successful. Clearing the barbed wire now becomes my aim. Thirty minutes later, I amble along picking up the balls like the rocks of my childhood. The bucket these days is much lighter, but no more the better. The rocks buried in dry earth so difficult to extricate then provide motivation to seek joy in rolling in hay bales recalling the days of riding, the mustang, Jughead. 

Coming up for lunch is a reprieve for my aching muscles. Recreating the whims of a teenager leaves 40 year old bones yelling for an ice bath. A nice ham sandwich and Sun Chips with some unsweetened tea is just what I need. I consider an audiobook to keep me company, but wondering if silence is the answer. The only soundtrack is chewing and swallowing. I wonder if this is what peace feels like. No need for noise to be my only companion. 

In the farmland that is mine, I’m finding completion. Completion in contentment. I still dream of the South of France in the lavender fields, the Parisian je ne sais quoi, or the seascapes of Capri, but right now my view is a familiar one, but beautiful nonetheless. 

Describe your current view. 

from R's rue https://ift.tt/denr3lh