The day that left me without words.
Usually I know when to speak and when to hold my tongue. I tend to have enough self-possession to be able to work that out. That was not so last Friday. My second cousin died on 3 November 2006, and the funeral was on the Friday just gone.
But as I stood in my coat and scarf, waiting for the hearse, in the over-heated and crowded front room, holding my late cousin's mother, I didn't know if I should speak, and if I should speak, what to say. All I wanted was to be comforting, and my mind was blank. With my grief, with hers. She cried, and wept that she was letting the side down, and all that I could do was shake my head and mutter was that it was all right to do that, it is all right to weep and crumple on the day that you have to bury your child.
I am still searching for the right words. No parent should have to bury their child.