On Boxing Day evening angry words were exchanged between me and one of my adult children.

Despite all my efforts;

Despite all my attempts to accept things as they are rather, than how I wanted them to be;

Despite all my longing to be seen and acknowledged for who I am;

Despite it all, I momentarily lost control and I was angry and I said what cannot be unsaid in a moment of madness.

Later in the week, my wife said she was surprised (disappointed being her meaning) at how quickly I appeared to have moved on from my damaging outburst.

I simply answered that I had not, and that I never quite would.

No further words were spoken by either of us.

She cried and I held her close waiting for her emotions to calm.

No words could soothe.

No words could undo.

No words could put it right.

No words, in that moment was my strength.

No words to defend or to explain or to complain or to justify or to contextualize.

And yet, through her tears, and through my silence and by holding her close, all was said that could be said, no words were said.

My next blog will be: German Guests

William Defoe