Flowers & rememberance part II

Yesterday I started thinking about flowers & rememberance & the circuits in which our lives are all embroiled.  Today this hit home even harder.

On Wednesday night, a young man was killed down the road from my house.  I don’t know what happened; word of a ‘fatal accident’ just spread around the grapevine, as such things do.  It was a friend of friend.  You recognise the face, know loads of the same people, drink in the same pub – you’re not friends yourself, but you’re both part of the same circuit. 

Such a sad situation.  There are no words or gestures that can be of any use or much comfort, but the desire to ‘just do something’ is strong – an act of rememberance, however small or seemingly pointless.  It’s horrid to admit, but I’ve always been a bit condescending of people putting flowers down at the scene of a tragedy.  All those bouquets at the gates of Kensington Palace?  All the bunches left by fences & lamp-posts & houses?  What’s the point, I’ve sneered countless times over the years.  For the first time today, I have realised the point – the point is the act itself.  The gesture of getting flowers & going to the place – that is the point, pure and simple.  It’s small & paltry & yes, largely pointless.  But it’s an act of rememberance.  It’s recognition & respect for the young man’s life, cut tragically short. 

Flowers: the language of love, the language of rememberance, the language when there are no words. 

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