A young family had been shattered,
hopes dashed.

A father will never get to tuck his baby girl into bed,
let alone walk her down the aisle.

And yet quite happily she ran up and down the church isle,
smiling, playing, oblivious.

One by one those in attendance offered their condolences,
conservatively dressed in black.

The priest offered words of encouragement from the Good Book.
A mountain of a man broke down as he bid farewell to his brother.

And yet quite happily she ran up and down the church isle,
smiling, playing, oblivious.

The elderly appeared more frail,
while wailing echoed throughout the house of prayer.

Solemn hymns were sung,
Tissues wrinkled from tears.

Suddenly, without warning, the child turned to her mother and asked:
Mama, waar is Papa?

Tears.
Nothing but tears.

This poem has been sitting deep within me since 12 January 2018, the day a colleague had to bury her husband. While we filed into church, all in search of words of comfort, I will never forget how her young daughter seemed oblivious to what was going on. I thought to myself: “The ignorance of a child can be a wonderful thing.” Even though she will grow up without a dad, which is tragic to say the least, on that day, for a brief moment, her ignorance and inability to fully appreciate what was going on seemed to shield her from so much pain.