I have never shot anyone, I have never witnessed carnage – that which has seen the suicide rate go up among young British soldiers having served in places like Afghanistan. So I really don’t have anything to compare.
A few years ago (those years I hint at occasionally) I lost a lot. For the sake of argument, let’s say the house burnt down. I was lucky in as much as my library still intact, all photos rescued. And much else. I am also lucky as I attach little heart to material possessions. Though a few I do. And most were saved. Which is great. However, and such does the human mind work: I miss some things by them not being there.
That last sentence is not as idiotic or self evident as it sounds.
What we have we have. What we don’t have we notice – and miss. Two examples, and please do not cry on my behalf, I am perfectly able to do so myself: A pestle and mortar (of huge emotional significance to me) and one of those retro multi coloured beachballs (of huge emotional significance to me). Their very absence pains me. Keeps that wound sore.
Long intro to a short upshot: Ever since a day in early 2009 I will go into slight panic whenever I mislay something. Or lose something. Heatbeat goes up. Stomach churns. Nausea will rise out of its pit. All good and well. Fight or flight. As nature intended. Except of course I am not faced with a tiger. I am faced with the Bermuda Triangle.
Which is why, dear children: There should be a place for everything, and everything in its place.
Now pass me the sick bag. Thank you.