Bray on Mother’s Day was packed. Bray on Mother’s Day was difficult to get in to. Bray on Mother’s Day was almost impossible to get out of. Bray on Mother’s Day was gorgeous sunshine, full of people, full of life, endless queue at the chipper, kids throwing stones on the beach, insane people going for a swim fully dressed, an overcrowded playground, kids shouting, adults arguing, everybody having a good time (that’s what they came for), everybody enjoying life – whether they were aware of it or not.

Pádraig went for a walk along the promenade with us, with a friend of ours, our oldest common and best friend we see far too seldom, a friend he had welcomed earlier on in our house with the broadest of smiles.

Back home in the evening, he had his second take-away after the accident, but for the first time helped by one of his best friends. Just before dinner, the two had a bit of a conversation and a laugh about school and the common memories they share about it.

Later we sat around the table and all agreed about what a wonderful paella I had cooked before we parted and are now making our way to bed.

It was a day when we all (at least I think it was all of us, maybe in different ways) enjoyed life in the face of terrible tragedies. I was more aware than ever before of how lucky we are to have days like these in company.

It was a good Mother’s Day. It was a celebration of life in the face of tragedy and death.