Jackie Danicki

Early this evening, Antoine and I headed to Bake-a-Boo to buy some goodies for the family that had so very kindly brought me into their home and rung the police - and offered me a glass of wine - after they heard me screaming at the twuntholes who’d mugged me.

The family wasn’t home, so we dropped the cakes back at our house and went out for dinner and drinks. At our last stop of the evening, I looked across the room and spotted the family in question. I don’t know why I was so grateful to see them, but I went over and spoke to them and they were just as sweet as could be - again. We’re going to go round to their house tomorrow.

The book I was nearly finished reading last night - the one the muggers stole from me - is called Why Do I Love These People? It is about families in all their forms, how the ideal family we hold in our minds differs so much from families that are - by any measure - genuinely great, and about how we interact with our born relations. It’s a deeply engrossing book, and I was savouring it as I neared the end. (Yay, the last two chapters are on the author’s website!)

One of the chapters is about Kraig Emery, a man in New Hampshire whose young son Kalahan died suddenly - and for no reason any medical expert in the United States can identify - several years ago. The story of how Kraig coped with Kalahan’s death, and what grew out of it for him and the rest of his family, is truly stunning. One quotation from Kraig has stayed in my mind since I read it. To summarise, Kraig Emery said that, when someone dies, all of our attention goes to what we’ve lost. Very little, if any, attention focuses on what we might gain with the passing of someone we love. We gain a certain connection that we missed before, and a whole lot besides. Kraig has gained a whole lot since his little boy died, because he made a conscious decision that that was the way it was going to be. He gave himself no other option but to emerge richer for the tragedy.

So I’ve thought a lot, over the last 24 hours, about what I might possibly gain from this experience, which is nothing compared to losing a child. I’m still working on an answer, and putting some things in motion that will inevitably help me, but just having this to ponder has - I think - stopped me from brooding too much on the scary bits. Seeing as the opportunity to beat the muggers with hot pokers is but a distant dream, I’m going to have to take what I can get out of this. It’s better than living in fear and loathing, right?

Filed under: Life