Initially it felt bleak. No longer to see our daughters or our new granddaughter, I was immersed in the book, working through the second and then the third copy edit. The very patient editor was persistent about permissions for the people I had mentioned - get permission, lose them or change their names were my only options.
Three little brothers and their three cousins, who had visited us before and after Jennifer was born, coming up for hot chocolate or hot juice when it was cold, playing with toys, making crafts. Knowing that Jennifer was sick, watching me with kind eyes, and then, when she was gone, still visiting, and proving such a comfort. What a disservice not to name them. We moved away from their housing scheme twenty-six years ago. How would they feel about hearing from me after all that time? I was nervous. My husband pushed me, 'What's the worst that can happen?' Still nervous. He pushed me again.
As it happened, their surname made them easy to find on social media. Six messages out of the blue from me, all quickly replied to. Six little children had remembered, had grown up remembering and still remember. Wonderful chats on Messenger. The promise of meeting up. The promise of hot chocolate and a hug when this is all over. Ripples. God is good all the time
