Dear readers, friends, enemies. Lovers and haters of marmite alike: I speak to you all.
This morning I attended the funeral of a child for the 2nd time in 3 months. Both extremely different events, yet equally as devastating.
In October last year, the funeral of a truly inspiration boy, Harry Moseley, touched the hearts of people across the nation. A host of people, from celebrities down to this blogging moint, felt the darkness and silence his passing warranted. “We are here to celebrate the life of Harry Moseley” we were reminded on numerous occasions. A life so full of energy, love and passion for ‘helping others’ (http://www.helpharryhelpothers.com/); a life that achieved so much, making its untimely and premature passing all the more heartbreaking.
This morning, at 9am, a humble crowd gathered to mourn the passing of Dylan – he was with us for merely two days. In stark contrast to Harry’s funeral, there was not really a life to celebrate. Yet this contrasting fact makes Dylan’s passing seem just as tragic. Please, I am most certainly not suggesting there are “levels” of tragedy when speaking of a child’s death – to say so would be absurd. I am merely stating that both of their circumstances were particularly shocking to me. I am not stating that this is unusual, or not always the case. I have, fortunately, not been to any more of these horrifically difficult services in order to include them.
On both occasions, I have been led to evaluate my priorities. To place my own struggles and circumstances in their rightful place. Pain and suffering are relative, so I’m told, yet I see the affliction in the eyes of the parents and I know instantly that I have no idea what they are feeling. I have had my struggles, and they have been truly awful. Genuinely horrific. I continue with many of them – some are my own fault, because I’m a moint. The same can be said of you, before you point your mointy fingers at me in ridicule! However, the two days I mention make me pay attention. Open my eyes.
How many times do we miss out on what we want because we either are too afraid to admit what that is, or we are too afraid of the rugged path that leads there? I have made both mistakes. I urge you, fellow moints, to not moint-up further. Be bold. Be honest. Life is too short to be afraid of being a moint. Yes, you will probably make mistakes along the way, but as the cliché goes, you’ll regret more over the times you just didn’t try.
I apologise for pretty much all of this post, I should have waited a few days to let my thoughts marinate a little, but I didn’t. So there. Do not hesitate to make the most of your life by worrying about making a moint of it.
Here’s to Harry and Dylan.
themointblog 
We shared Harry’s funeral and your moving song written for him was perfect for that moment. Nobody should see their child die. Those of us who have none will never truly know what that heart searing event feels like. We loved those children and feel intensively about their passing. We can honour them by never wasting any of the precious time we have on this wonderful planet.
As someone who is very fond of children, I can imagine no grief more unbearable than that of a parent who has survived the death of a child. In addition to mourning the life that was, there is surely mourning what could have, should have been, for the rest of their days. How right you are in your conclusions. We must put things in perspective and go after what we truly want, even if the going is rough. I hope to see you along that road.