Imagine the scene: A father has just finished running a marathon. He stands just across the finishing line, bent double, hands on knees, chest heaving and gasping for breath. He looks up and sees his eight-year-old son excitedly dodging through the crowds to get to him. They embrace. After a short moment the father says: “Son, you’d better get back to your brother, sister and mom, I’ll come and find you in a minute.” All I need to add is Boston 15th April 2013.
My heart goes out to Bill Richard. He lost his son Martin, 8. His wife is fighting for her life and his 6 year-old daughter has lost a leg, while his 12 year-old son apparently escaped injury.
On the 15th of August 1998, on the day of the bombing in Omagh, Northern Ireland, four and a half years before I lost my own son, I wrote a piece about loss from the perspective of a father. I naively thought it would be topical only once, how wrong I was…
A Father’s Wish
Turn back the clock
To before they were gone
So we can put right
All that was wrong
Turn back the clock
To sunnier days
When peace was a promise
In so many ways
Turn back the clock
I know it can’t be
Turn back the clock
AND LET IT BE ME
© Baldock Bard 2013
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