Today is Tuesday. My partner has been to 2 funerals and a memorial this week . Every one of the deceased was a contemporary… well , at least within the ‘give or take a few’ years margin. All under 70. All closer to 60, really. Way too young to die.
Today is also the fourth anniversary of my brother’s death. He was 60.
Which brings me to this post.
I wish my brother was here.
No I don’t miss him every day. We weren’t overly close . Yes, I loved him. Yes , he loved me. That’s what siblings do. We were about 12 years apart. He was the first baby. I was the last. Of five.
Five Mum! What were you thinking?
I’d love to know what my mum is thinking now.
Mum’s mind is slipping away .
Grief took her memories.
They’re filed away with the loss of her first born Glen Andrew Wilkie.
Her favourite.
I wish he was here. He’d know how to fix everything . Or at least , he’d come in like a bull at a gate and sort stuff out.
But he died.
And now I have to step up.
WHICH LENDS ITSELF TO THIS… a poem I wrote years ago during insomnia…
In the darkest hours
between night and day
the seeds of doubt
spring from my mind
and drift on the gentle
breeze of self pity
finally coming to rest
to sprout
to flourish
In the garden of
Despair in my heart
Soul Scribbling 