A year ago today I lost someone, and although I never knew who they were, I still feel the pain of loss. I never even knew the gender of the child, conceived in love but killed by small minds which turned care into hate.
And this evening, I visited my parents for dinner, to meet the progenitors of this pain, who had rejected their unborn, bastard grandchild almost at conception. I still wrestle with my feelings for them, those who brought me into the world, cherished me and brought me to this place, 45 years on.
I almost revert to childhood, complete with sucked thumb and crying myself to sleep. I wish I had the chance to know my child, torn from the womb by intolerance, that I might apologise.