The world is a different place when people you know are gone out of it: it is as if the roads and railways to familiar places had been closed, the towns themselves removed from the map, the landscape changed; the course you took for granted, always assumed would be available to you, is shut off, inaccessible. The old familiar path, the well-trodden way, is barred. You can no longer go there any time.
Our beloved son Patrick, photographed by his big sister at his cousin’s wedding.
‘The king therefore being much moved, went up to the high chamber over the gate, and wept. And as he went he spoke in this manner: My son Absalom, Absalom my son: would to God that I might die for thee, Absalom my son, my son Absalom.’
requiescat in pace