This past week a tragedy struck.  A baby died, in the North Island.  And I can’t stop thinking about this loss.  This monumental sadness.

I have written a letter to Mace’s mama, and here it is: loss.  For my own benefit as much as anything.  Because I can’t stop thinking about them.  This mother.  This baby.  Their family.

I can’t help thinking that this poor baby, this poor woman, have worn the burden that we all feel in the most ghastly way.  So many of us are too busy.  Too much going on.  Heads full.  Reliant upon routine and vulnerable in the face of change.

This family are the devastated canaries in our weird modern coal mine.

We need to slow the hell down.