James Valentine Peake was born on 24 January 2006 and died in my arms on 27th January 2006. His three days of life changed mine profoundly.
Eleven is drawn with parallel lines. Parallel lives. In one, my son survived. He is with us in England, in the rain; or we are still in California, in drought. He is like me at that age–obsessed with science and discovery; or like his mother, he is at the piano, practicing. He is like neither […]
“Who would give me a map to find you, the paper / superimposed with a constantly moving ‘X’?” -From “Father-Son Conversation“ Malcolm. Professor. Triple. Dos. So many x-es, so many ex-es. Expatriate. Expletive. Ex-father. Ex-son. Two lines, for a moment, cross. This is how the Romans made ten. In Arabic numerals, it takes two digits:
Nine years ago today, our son was born. Three days later, he died in my arms. Reflecting on my life as it is now, it is hard to imagine being the father of a nine-year-old boy. Yet it is equally hard to imagine my life without this experience of both loving and letting him go.
“Blue?” “Blau.” My ten-year-old friend is teaching me German as we play the card game Uno. His eyes are also “blau” and his hair light blonde. His English is only slightly further along than my heretofore-nonexistent German. So I mime. I ham it up, both winning and losing with panache. I shout “Uno!” and wave
One month after we opened the final flap on the Advent Calendar, a child was born. Far from the environment of a stable, the operating theatre was brightly lit, clean smelling, and sterilised. Everything had gone just as Science had said it ought to go right up to that moment. Yet when our son emerged,
“In the depth of winter, I finally learned that within me lay an invincible summer.” -Albert Camus Six is my favourite number. It is the number of years between my younger sister and me. It looks like the lovechild of zero and “C”. The only single digit that is divisible by two as well as
