“Everything works out in the end. if it hasn't worked out yet, then it's not the end.” ― Tracy McMillan On a cold winter’s day last February, I found myself roaming around the grassy cemetery of an ancient English church. The tiny village with thatched roofs kept careful watch. White snowdrops thrown like magic carpets by a ghost gave me a profound sense of hope and joy in this green grassy corner of the world. Ancient burial stones tumbled, lopsided and barely appearing from moss covered mounds were everywhere. A jumble of death. In the midst of this a tall stone monument stood on a plinth, newer, built in 1922 and erected in memory of those who died in WWI. The sign read “as there was no repatriation of bodies during the war, it was important for the villagers to have somewhere to come and remember the fallen”. Heavens to Betsy! I was struck by the word “ repatriation” and the sense of loss. I imagined the villag...