When something as tragic as the attack on my son invades every corner of one’s life, the temptation may be to think life has lost all trace of joy and laughter. Not so. I honestly do not think I have laughed as much in the first half century of my life as I have in the past three years.

Of course, there are the down days, the dreadful days when everything seems bleak and hopeless. There are the days when the fallout hits another area of life and another chunk of one’s accustomed normality goes missing. These things have a way of popping up when one least expects them.

The ripple effect of this event spreads far and wide in the open waters of life. Nick lost the life, future and normality he had worked so hard to build for himself. My younger son will carry the scars for the rest of his life. My stepsons were indelibly changed. Friends and acquaintances have each been touched in ways personal to them. My own relationship with my partner collapsed and though we still care deeply for each other, we no longer share a home. Stress, shifting responsibilities and heartache have a way of keeping the ripples spreading wide in the open waters of life.

Yet I was watching the rain yesterday, falling into the flooded grooves of the deck in Nick’s garden. Where the rain fell on the pond each drop set up ripples that spread out wide over the surface. Where the drops hit the grooves and were contained, however, they spread out along the tiny channel until they met the ripple from the next drop, and where they touched, the water fed back to its starting point and became immediately calm. There was power in the meeting of the ripples.

We too have found this, and through the touching of other lives, we too have gained calm and strength, being blessed with the knowledge that others have also found strength in the meetings.

Perhaps, too, this very intimate understanding of the darker side of life has brought with it the gift of joy. If we did not know the depths of despair, how could we really appreciate the happy times? In some of the darkest moments we have access to the simplest joys and memories are made, all the brighter for being set against the darker background.

Laughter and joy are a huge part of our life. Like the messages you have sent my son. Like the evening Alex pushed Nick to the village pub… and I opened the door to find Alex in the wheelchair with Nick at the helm. Or the remote controlled tarantula that saw Alex leaping across Nick’s bed like a jack-in-the-box. Or the picture I came across on Facebook when Nick, Alex and friends had a barbeque in the rain…..