I wonder if I might sit down for a moment and say "Hi". I won't take up too much room.

Reading about family loss reminded me about something that sits very quietly in the back of my consciousness, and which happened a couple of years ago.

I have a younger sister who has lived in the US since her marriage in 1971, and who currently lives in Arizona. She's been back to the UK three or four times since then to meet up with family, but I've never been over to the States (might get there one day). Her son (my nephew) was about a year younger than my own son, who's now in his mid-30s and, though he came over to the UK on a visit, I never met him.

My nephew was, from an early age, what we now call bi-polar. He never worked after school, just stayed at home and got through his life with the aid of whatever drugs he could get via the internet which, he knew, would help his condition. He was his own physician. It was a difficult life for my sister. The boy would keep odd hours, tinker with technology, at which he was very skilled, be unable to meet people. He attempted suicide once or twice, and they would joke about it afterwards - while clearing out as many means of committing suicide (really sharp knives, pills, etc.) from the house together. The unpredictability of his condition made life for my syster a very wearing experience - not helped by an alcoholic (and now ex-) husband. My wife was in Arizona on a holiday with friends around three years ago and, though she met up with my sister and had a good time, it had to be in a coffee shop in town - and not at my sister's house. The occasion would have freaked the boy out.

Anyway, I had a telephone call about two years ago. The (I suppose) inevitable had happened. My sister came back from work one evening and went into his room to find that he had shot himself with a rifle which had been kept in the closet for many years, untouched. The room was wrecked - water, beer, mess everywhere - with him in the middle of it.

It was sad and strange to hear of the death of a nephew whom I'd heard so much about and yet never seen. Family, and yet almost not family. I left the house and walked around for an hour or so down the country lanes, just getting a handle on the event, so to speak. The worst bit was telephoning my father - who had met my nephew several times - and coping with sorrow and tears from a man who'd rarely cried in his life to my knowledge.

Anyway, as I said above, all this has sat quietly somewhere in the mind since then, and comes out occasionally - like now. And it's still an odd feeling - not grieving, if you like, but a sort of sad curiosity that such things should happen.

I look at my own son with renewed love and simple thanks that he's just there.