I cannot explain how tough it was tonight. Suddenly, the AC started to cry in the middle of the warm up for his Kuk Sool Won. Fiercely, he wiped his eyes, repositioned his stance, formed his hand strikes, and and wiped his eyes once more. I watched him, knowing that if I spoke the dam would burst, but my mummy-heart crumbling in pain as I counted the front kicks, each one with a slightly redder face, a slightly more desperate expression, a slightly more wet arm.
Eventually, I went out, and spoke to one of the instructors, who went to him, and brought him out to me, because he was struggling to cope with his emotions, and the dam did indeed break. He cried, he railed, he groaned. He sounded like a wounded animal, moaning in pain. "why?" he kept asking me. "Why why why why?"
It was all about Rich. I held him whilst his seven year old heart smashed all over again into a thousand thousand pieces. He hated the woman who ran Rich over, he even swore, calling her a bitch. (he apologised for his language later in the evening, and was forgiven)
"Why didn't he try and save himself?"
"Why didn't she stop?"
"Why did he have to die?"
All I could do, was hold him, and hold him, and cry a little with him.
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