The house in which they live is ordinary by any standards. Nothing special at the gate and furniture assembled out of need: not out of taste. Inside this home they live their lives, unremarkable by any count and beset by worries we all have. He clings to faith and she has understanding. Decent people, they don’t cause much fuss, make a living but only just: rich in failings but nothing bad. A couple with three daughters just like mine. Lovely girls, just as you would expect, modest, decent and with parents that they trust.
To polite to mention it out loud, there is a shadow in their home. One girl is ill. Her health is threatened but she never complains. The air around her suggests she is visiting rather than settling. Her mother and father say nothing but you can see it in their eyes. They love her more than life itself but live with the fear her illness brought. You can never say I love you enough to those you do. When they are gone you will be left with the silence and what you didn’t do.
Her dad is not a verbal man and talks about one thing when he means another but you can’t miss the worry in his eyes. I, who have known this girl so briefly, feel the privilege of having met her. Her mother is a special women: hard with knowledge but soft of understanding: she always knows what’s real. Her children are her life.
We have our worries, my partner and I. Just like you they seem to fill our minds. We dream of release but wake to them each day. Today this special girl must go for the treatment her health requires: she will need it all her life. Thinking of her I find I have no worries worth a thought, apart from this girl. The love we feel for her will never die.