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trampled underfoot。
Celebrations
lost forever。
Sacrificed。
Waylaid。
Oh my love； how I shall mourn them。
Many years ago in London； I was visited by a girl…friend in a highly emotional state。 I was used to seeing her troubled； plagued by doomed or thwarted expectations； often lonely and depressed。
It transpired that she’d been to a seance。 A male voice had sought her out； telling her； tenderly； how much he loved her； how he wished to see her happy； and how he was always watching over her。
“It was my father；” she whispered tearfully。 “The father I never knew。 He was killed in the war； when I was a baby。”
I reacted with a certain scepticism： “Do you really believe there’s such a thing as spirits？”
“Who knows？” she smiled； unperturbed。 “The thing is； it made me realise that he would have felt just like that。 And； although he’s gone； I still have his love。 It is contained within me。 I just wasn’t aware of it before。”
The woman I knew had been transformed。 She stood before me radiant； secure in the knowledge that she was lovable and loved。 Looking at her； I could tell that the person she had suddenly bee had a rosy future ahead of her。
That moment was a turning…point for me； too。 For； just like her； I had a father who died when I was a baby。
My son used to have a black…and…white pet rabbit who amazed us all。 He was fully house…trained； answered to his name； he played with dinky toys and went cycling in a basket on the handle…bars。
He liked watching the early evening news； sitting on the sofa with the rest of us； occasionally operating the remote control with his hind paw； or sipping tea from my mug when I wasn’t looking。
The rabbit was so much part of our life； we couldn’t
