Part of Notre-Dame as seen from le Petit Pont, Paris

WRITTEN ON 16 APRIL 2019

I have many vivid memories associated with Notre-Dame:

• Being introduced to its magnificence as an aspiring student of French, at the very end of 1993/start of 1994, with my Mum, Dad and sister during a family New Year trip to Paris (my first ever trip to the city) that my parents had been dreaming of organising for a few years before that. The cathedral was the first awareness I ever had of Gothic architecture. I was surprised at how dark the cathedral was inside, but loved the rose windows and the west front.

• Admiring the cathedral’s flying buttresses from a boat during a cruise on the Seine, as part of a second family visit to Paris in January 1998 (organised as a surprise for my sister!).

• Catching sight of the cathedral whilst taking a bus over a bridge from the Gare de Lyon in June 2006, having travelled to Paris to register with a recruitment agency — this view reminded me instantly of how beautiful Paris is, and is partly what inspired me to move there!

• Seeing a pretty red and orange-coloured sky above the cathedral after sunset, whilst walking to the Place Dauphine with a friendly, fun group for dinner after work in October 2006.

• Enjoying views of the floodlit cathedral from the Quai de la Tournelle whilst having a stroll with my parents, after dinner in the Rôtisserie du Beaujolais in November 2006.

• Going to meet my cousin Jonny outside the cathedral in March 2008, and being picked up and whirled around in a great big, excitable hug by him!

• Having my spirits lifted by the soothing sound of the bells of Notre-Dame ringing, when living in a horrible apartment with an insane, mean landlady (also resident in the apartment!) on the Boulevard Saint-Michel in spring 2008.

• Walking through the Square Jean XXIII behind the cathedral in spring 2008 with my baby niece, Amelie, looking out from behind my sister’s shoulders in a baby carrier backpack and walking over the Pont Saint-Louis with the two of them, my little nephew, Louis, and my brother-in-law as saxophone music from a busker on the bridge emanated out above the Seine.

• Having picnics with a lively crowd of fellow English teachers on le Pont des Arts in spring 2008 and 2009, knowing that the reassuring presence of Notre-Dame was just beyond the Square du Vert-Galant visible from the bridge.

• Going in Notre-Dame in June 2015 to light a candle for my Dad’s soul ten months after he had died, in my desperate quest to try and manage my overwhelming grief.

• Walking through the Square Jean XXIII behind the cathedral in September 2015 with my Mum and wandering over the Pont Saint-Louis with her, the day before setting off on a pilgrimage to Rocamadour in memory of my Dad.

My heart is completely broken this morning for dreams ravaged, for beautiful structures destroyed, for all the people who have gone to Notre-Dame to pray for grace when their strivings and longings have been clouded by a black, merciless smoke of foggy despair that threatens to choke them, for prayers unanswered. I’m grateful for Notre-Dame’s splendour, for the blessings to the city of Paris and passers-by given by the cathedral simply from existing, for faith that remains indestructible despite painful flames of disappointment threatening to burn it, for towers standing strong despite having lost the roof and spire that they co-existed with so naturally, for solidarity, for poignant memories, and for the joys of life and love that, similar to the rose windows of Notre-Dame, shine light into the darkness and which help people to keep living throughout the four constantly-varying seasons of life like the trees outside the cathedral which appear bare, of assorted rich colours, revealing pretty blossom or blooming according to the time of year with an infinite number of subtly different states of being in between.

‘Eia Mater, fons amoris.
Me sentire vim doloris
Fac, ut recum lugeam’.

[Oh Mother, fount of love,
may I feel sorrow deep as yours,
may I mourn with you.] From Pergolesi’s Stabat Mater.