Good Friday

..the darkest day of the christian calendar.
and the day, 5 years ago, when we knew the time had come for us , weary with dread, to pack ourselves up for the end. In your room, packing everything you need for a journey from which you will never return. Your new clothes unworn but too pretty to leave behind. Tiny beautiful dresses - that may be wearable for your funeral. Toys, books, candles, wind-chimes, fairy lights, all to make your last days as close to home as we can.
The terrible knowledge of knowing what we are doing; the only unknown is 'how long', not 'what if.'
The unbearable part? wrapping you in a tiny bundle and saying goodbye to your cat, who eyed us with uncertainty and suspicion as we left ...
And into the beloved blue car, where you sat only days before as we drove you under easter blossom and winter jasmine.
Driving in silence, your little brother in the boot-seat, you and I on the back seat, our Third man beside us, as we try desparate late attempts to keep your throat clear. Your quiet father drives us to our last destination.
On arrival, the relief of the staff nurse leaked more than she knew and filled me with chill. With outstretched arms she reached to us, "You're here now!" - Oh that's ok then. Here,to be held to the breast of death. I really knew then, that we were never taking you home in any other form than dust.
Good Friday. Good Dark Friday. Unlike the biblical story, we were allowed four days with you before you left us. But the stone that guards your tomb has been too monumental to roll away. It has been inched, feebly maybe, and you have been released from the dark cave in radiant glimpses. It is true, my girl, that in fact you have always been resurrected; from the moment of your birth you seemed to live in a different dimension. But it is my stone, that I have struggled to move, to fill my own cavern with your light. Your divine brother is the angel that appears at your grave and says to me "Woman, why are you weeping?" He tells me constantly that you live in the sun, and shine on us every day. You are two breathtaking children, and we, your parents, are the infants here.