Lulu

After the last dvd choice by my husband ('Alien'..."You'll love it! It's a masterpiece!") which sent me into a green slimy snore-fest, I took charge of our entertainment choice for last night. Something light and romantic, I thought.

... And there she was, Melanie 'Working Girl' Griffith herself in what looked like a new romantic comedy opposite Patrick Swazey playing a writer..... Perfect I thought, and read no further. 'Forever Lulu' it was called.

Of course the film was not a romantic comedy at all, but a story about a couple whose child had died and another woman who had given her child up for adoption.

During the last week the sky has been singing a song of protest against the fragility of new life. Not wanting to soften into spring it has been de-gorging its angriest weather: Wind, snow and vats of rain have been whipping blossom, freezing buds and drenching fields. Last night, watching 'Forever Lulu' in front of the fire, we too were drawn unexpectedly in to wet rage, overwhelmed by the undiluted force of our grief. This month our child would have been three. If he had been a boy he would have been called Lucien.

Our unspeakable tears tear open our hearts and it is good to feel it together; to know he is still there.

The wintry skies, in their vast opening, have dropped little yellow wildflowers everywhere, studding the emerald grass with birthday stars. Though sometimes, especially in April, my palm encloses a pocket of air where there would be a tiny hand, or my ears hear dull silence where there would be big questions, new life simply keeps on coming, and I have to laugh too.

For Ever, Lulu.