I Think The Northern Ireland

With All Respects To Heaven, I Like It Here.

We Have To Listen To Other People's Stories. That's The Thing. And That's The Only Way That We Eventually Get To Know Ourselves.

I Was Fascinated By The Lack Of A Word For A Parent Who Has Lost A Child. We Have No Word In English. I Thought For Sure There'd Be A Word In Irish But There Is None. And Then I Looked In Several Other Languages And Could Not Find One, Until I Found The Word Sh'khol In Hebrew. I'm Still Not Sure Why So Many Languages Don't Have A Word For This Sort Of Bereavement, This Shadowing.

They Told Me Corrigan Smashed All The Bones In His Chest When He Hit The Steering Wheel. I Thought, Well At Least In Heaven His Spanish Chick'll Be Able To Reach In And Grab His Heart.

I Guess This Is What Marriage Is, Or Was, Or Could Be. You Drop The Mask. You Allow The Fatigue In. You Lean Across And Kiss The Years Because They're The Things That Matter.