I called my mum late last night.
“Well, the stuff is gone”.
And there are oh so many things I could say.
Perhaps, I will say this. My mother told me she was watching a documentary on the Queen, looking at her clock and knowing it was 8, and the people would be coming to pick up Gabriel’s things.
The Queen calls her family the firm. And you can say a great many things about the monarchy and about Her Majesty, and a great many more things are said every day. HRH knows a great deal about a great many things. Perhaps, most, she knows about duty and obligation. She knows about doing the right thing when you are tired, when it is inconvenient, when you just don’t want to.
I didn’t want money for Gabriel’s things. Hopes and dreams may have a cost, but you can’t calculate a value for them. It would have been easy to just throw them out. It still wouldn’t have been right. Right was to offer them to someone who could use them, even knowing that it was going to be hard to do this. Right is not to waste.
I will not lie. I wept more yesterday than I have in a very long time. I wept when, in spite of my better judgment, I watched that truck drive off. It hurt like a son of a bitch. It hurt like I can’t even describe.
And at the end of it, my mother’s voice on the phone.
“I know it hurt Cheryl-Nancy. I know it had a cost, and I know that you and Owen are the only ones who feel the cost. I know you did the right thing because that’s what I have always taught you, and that’s what you do. I’m sorry, I wish I could make this hurt less. Sometimes, munchkin, duty hurts. Sometimes it hurts a lot.”