In the park again.
Saturday morning we arrive at my sister's back door laden with bags and boxes - a warm feta cheese frittata, left over mincemeat shortbread, ginger beer and wellington boots.
Waiting for us on the step is a little boy - my great-nephew - in a smart Spiderman suit, a long light sabre and a big smile.
I'm so happy to see him. I drop the bags and bend down to his height....to give him a kiss. He puts his arms round me and gives me the sweetest hug...for the longest time....he doesn't let go....for the longest time. As if he can read my heart.
When we leave he does the same thing, even before I ask, and gives me the gentlest hug..... and little pats on my back, little soothing pats.
I whisper in his ear that I'd like to take him home with me in my pocket and bring him out whenever I need a hug. I see that's not the thing to say - but I think he feels my meaning.
What I wanted to say was I'll wear the memory of his sweet hug always like a shield against all pain, like a gossamer cloak of rose petals. Such a big thing from such small arms. No words for that kind of love ....except it's like being blessed, being accepted by an angel.
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