Bob Geldof: Years of sacrifice never made stone of his heart
WHEN someone you have known or loved – or both – dies, there seems to occur a great tearing in the fabric of the world.
A weird emptiness opens for a moment and then the impatient air rushes quickly in to fill the momentary vacuum, the empty shape where that person once stood. Soon life picks up its rhythms again and you learn to live with sad absence.
What if that tearing is not directly personal? Not one's immediate own.