There was a man howling on the phone at London Heathrow. His son had just been killed in South Africa. He cried and cried, while families ran by to catch their flight, couples reunited, children argued over which snacks to buy, and life in the airport continued on.

I wonder if his son was killed by another human being,

or in an accident.

I wonder what his son was doing in South Africa.

(Did he live there?)

I wonder if his son was in his twenties or perhaps early thirties.

His dad looked young.

I wonder if his son had somebody he loved with him when he died, 

or if he was alone.

I wonder if his son was married, had children of his own.

I wonder if his son had the same brown hair as his father,

maybe curly instead of straight.

I wonder what he liked to do, liked to eat, liked to watch.

I wonder if he loved life.

I wonder if he was happy.

I think he was.

Mon, 2nd Jul — 3 notes