You know, I’ve heard it said by adherents of several spiritual traditions – and it’s a claim which finds much favour with me – that we come into these bodies and live a life in order to learn something. And so you might ask what the point could possibly be of coming into a life which is destined to be a mere eleven months long, much of which is to be spent lying in a hospital bed on life support while the poor parents suffer.
I can’t answer that and I don’t believe anybody else can, but maybe Charlie’s role this time around wasn’t to learn something, but to teach something. Maybe Charlie was no less than a little messiah. He had the eyes of one.
And if you think I’m trivialising this issue – or, even worse, callously taking the opportunity to make a blog post – you’re very wrong. Don’t you think his story has brought a lump to my throat? Do you imagine that I don’t feel the most intense sympathy for his parents? It has and I do. I’m just honestly musing on whether there might be some sense to be made of it.