Three days ago I would have struggled to tell you ‘which one’ Peaches Geldof was.
But then, in uncanny timing it now turns out, I read her interview in Mother & Baby magazine where she came across so well. Happy. Settled. Just another mother struggling to find her way.
So to hear that she is dead at the age of 25. With two boys under two just does not seem possible. And yet apparently it is.
Speculation is already rife, of course. How did she die? The Instagram picture of her and her mum, Paula Yates, that she posted shortly before her death asking whether perhaps the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. Or the peach in this case.
But this is hardly the point. As every mother knows. Every mother whose heart will be breaking for Peaches’ children. Every mother who will be seeing their face where Peaches’ is. Her children’s faces where Astala’s and Phaedra’s are. It is impossible not to. Not being there for our kids is what keeps us awake at night.
Godivy is not much older than Astala. She needs me with an instinctiveness that neither of us understands. It is just there. The plight of the two year old.
And I am so terribly sad that these two boys will grow up without knowing that instinct their mother had for them. That any child has to. Because this happens more than we ever get to know. To mums of children everywhere. No matter who you are. Or aren’t.
We can no more protect ourselves than predict the winning lottery numbers. All we can do is love our children for every minute that we are lucky enough to be in their lives. Because that is the only legacy that really matters. A secure childhood that leaves a child in no doubt how much they are loved and valued.
That can surely be the only point here.
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