Time

They said they wept the day they dropped him off. They pulled into a lay-by and wept. They said they held one another in the front of the car, sobbed hot tears on one another's shoulders and then drove on.

He was ten.

We are in this world for such a short time. Some of us are committed to a shockingly brief stay. Each moment with someone you love is precious. When that moment is gone you cannot get it back. We may claw at the past with greedy fingers, trying to reclaim some of its lost magic. We want to be the person we were. We hang onto vanity and fewer wrinkles. We may even clutch a fervent desire to change an action, a thought, a time, a place. We restrain it there, in our minds, just behind our eyes, through every waking hour of every sleep-poor day and, if it is sufficiently powerful, it follows us into our dreams.

Unfinished business. Baggage. Lack of closure.

What happened to living for now? Yesterday is gone - of that we can be certain. Tomorrow may not come - of that we must be aware. So now. What of now? THIS IS NOW.

Why? Why did they take him? For such heart-ache, for such pain, for such a small boy?

Because it was fair.

For his future.

Who kissed him goodnight and smoothed his hair before sleep? Who patched up his knees and held him through his tears?

Who asked him if it was fair?