Hey Hedge Schoolers,
I'm writing this newsletter on the heaviest day of the year. July 20 is the 15th anniversary of my brother's death. A day that as a family, we get through. A day that is viscerally charged. In between shares on socials, I find myself swamped in love and community. United in grief and care, I speak to those whose lives were impacted by my brother's presence. Lament has been a passenger for a long time. Those who have lost someone they love will understand the dark passenger that hovers in the shadows.
Today also marks the day that I publicly announced my book beyond this magic community. The path that I feel called to step into is the brokering of dialogue around loss and grief. The book is a raw and personal journey that has taken 15 years to flower. It has kept gnawing at me. And so I want to share a part of the opening chapter. I am not a victim of grief. I am a ferocious lover and lament is a song that honours that love.
Expression through prose and poetry was discovered in the crucible of my own grief. But it has only been recently that I have had the air to move these words from whispers to page. I thank you for taking the time to read, share and reflect.
Excerpt from "a light in the lament"
Mine was a Friday afternoon.
My beige hangover nursed by a belly full of chicken nuggets. My quintessential PE teacher's lunch as fuel, I was setting up the softball diamond for Inter-school sport. As the thud of the third base hit the ground, I felt the haptic buzz on my thigh. Distracted by the arrival of the opposing school's bus, I let it go. Swallowing a gulp of fresh air to help the seediness subside, honouring it with a nuggety belch, I pressed on with my duties.
Again, the incessant buzz...
Reaching into my pocket I noticed a slew of missed calls. The new Samsung phone confusing. Oh, how I yearned for my trusty Nokia 3310.
Looking at the screen, I saw four missed calls in quick succession from Dad.
It rang again…
This time, Aidan flashed up - my younger brother.
As I answered, the sun hit me with all its glory.
I closed my eyes to be swept up by the magical July day.
“Hey mate, what’s up?”
Mourning strangle
Haptic doorways
lead to forever moments
of cataclysmic impact
Where scorched lines in grass
mask underworld abductions.
The reign of blood soaked tears,
time travel anchor points
available in an eye blink,
lead to the mourning strangle
we hope morning will forget,
but know gasping grasps
cannot escape
the stark of this dark.
If I don't answer,
does it change his/story?
To those who have walked with dark passengers, I honour your courage and willingness to be in your lament.
With love,
Steve
Dark passengers in the shadows