I have just read the sort of story that makes me want to weep. In fact I am having to concentrate on not weeping. A man is being held in Italy for the murder of his two sons aged 12 and 14. He threw them down a 60-foot well in 2006.
Their bodies were discovered by accident when another boy fell down the same well on Monday night. Evidence suggests these two boys did not die when they were thrown in. Instead they suffered a slow and agonising death in the darkness. One of them was found curled up in the foetal position, his thumb in his mouth.
Their mother says her life is over. I can understand that. The agony of thinking what your boys must have gone through is more than any mother can bear.
There is nothing in the story to suggest a motive on the part of the father. But what motive could there possibly be for throwing your children to a hellish death?
No one knows how long Salvatore and Francesco survived down there. We’ll never know if they comforted each other, or if one of them watched the other die, we can only guess at the terror and desperation they must have felt. And we will probably never understand what drove their father to this most cruel and heinous act.
You worry about all sorts of things happening to your children; from accidents to abductions to illness. But not this. How could you ever imagine this?
Copyright: Helena Frith Powell 2008