What do you believe in? What do you truly, deeply believe in? Or is there nothing that occupies your thoughts in this way: content with the preoccupation of mundane existence that leads you by the nose through each and every day of this thing referred to as life.

We all have such different journeys to make through this lifetime, resulting in such varied outlooks and philosophical viewpoints that we as individuals can be, at the extremes at least, so alienated from one another. From an everyday practical point of view such rifts in mindsets can routinely go unnoticed and are otherwise irrelevant in a world where life itself is not up for discussion and in the face of the illusory routine that swallows all greater thinking. What does the fish ask of the river in which it swims? To not have to think or contemplate existence and the nature of life itself is a luxury. To be conscious of the profoundness that are presence implies and to be needful of some understanding – some answers – is not an enviable position.

Many great thinkers through the ages have wrangled with this great question, and many have done so out of an intellectual drive for true knowledge. But the domain of such thoughts was always traditionally set aside for those philosophically inclined few and not for the bourgeoisie – the proletariat worker bees too immersed in the business of struggle and survival. But then there’s another group who find themselves consumed by this question . . .

I am reluctantly part of this group as are many others: we are the parents who have suffered – suffer still and evermore – the death of our children and the torment implicit. We no longer have the comforting luxury of a blinkered and gloriously ignorant life. No: everything changed for us. We are compelled by a need to understand the nature of life, so that we can resolve the screaming twisting maelstrom that contorts and burns within. How can it be that the beautiful life, the shining personality that blossomed, reached and grew before our eyes, could be so callously and indifferently extinguished? How can the life that formed and moulded purpose into our very own be wiped out as if of no importance or consequence. The answer of course is it can’t. There simply has to be a greater reality at work here.

We wrestle with this need for truth driven by our soul-felt belief in life’s continuation beyond the physical and often find ourselves in the company of those who still find it laughable to even want to ask the question of life – never mind entertaining the preposterous conclusions that we arrive at. This is the rift (albeit silent) that can often separate those us of us from the rest. In the end it’s not the belief, but the need for it, that is quite often all that divides us. This is not always the case either though. Many parents who’ve lost children still believe that their child is gone forever, as they believe they too will be when their time comes.

Life is complicated. Life is misunderstood and beliefs are what bring us together – one way or the other. Sometimes I guess we all grow tired and unsure but still we cannot let go. We need to believe in something. I, for one, believe in my son. I believe in Craig.