Boys ponder a dead pigeon

I was reminded yesterday during a conversation with Beatrice of death. Beatrice is six, she’s my neighbour; such a young age to be talking of the finality of death.

One of the most difficult things I have ever had to do in my life was to explain to my three and five year old daughters why their rabbits and guinea pigs had been slaughtered by neighbourhood dogs who tore into their run.

I couldn’t prevent their young eyes from the disaster, it was they who discovered the carnage. I am sure that the sight of broken bodies, blood and fur have remained with them all their lives. Try as we do, we cannot hide children from death. Its ugliness is with us daily, whether in life or the news.

Yet we fear death, we try to run from it; but no matter how hard we run, how fast, death catches us all in the end. Running is futile. The only thing we can do to cheat death, is to leave a footprint for all time to see.