My grandfather, whose name is identical to mine down to the details, and who is the only namesake I have got, would have turned 100 today.
Today is also the anniversary of an impetuous encounter in London, not that many years ago, after which I emerged light-headed, outlandishly serene, perplexed and head-over-heels in love.
The baby is sleeping behind me. Human lives are too brief. They’re all we’ve got however, a lifetime — as Death puts it in Brief Lives by Gaiman.