My brother. Mick. He was 24 when he ended his life.
I was 19…..
He was laugh out loud funny.
As a kid I’d spy him walking up the drive way with his surfer mates (aged 15 -16 ) and feel the thrill of excitement wash over me. I thought (in my pre teen mind) that ‘they’ were all so cool, good looking, funny and ‘if only’ I could join them, (which seemed a distant fantasy.) They lived to surf and since our house was 2 streets from the beach…. it was ‘the pad’ to go to after a surf. I’d walk into the kitchen some mornings when they would arrive back and hang around hoping (praying) for a scrap of attention. Even a ‘hey lon’ would have done.. but they were too intent sitting around the toaster warming their frozen hands amid stifled laughs and cooking toast to satisfy their starving stomachs to notice me…..
Thats Mick, with the blonde locks.
There he is again, the blonde with a cigar (how did he get away with that?) The groovy 70’s
Here he is again, (I didn’t even know about the surf comp until coming to Albany and staying with Bill)… thanks for this surprise article Bill !
Once again I sat here, cried and whispered to his spirit.
It’s been a long time between grave sits and for 20 odd years I couldn’t bear to touch foot on Albany soil because of it. But time really does heal. His wonderful exciting musically creative spirit lives on… we can speak now, more from the heart now that time has passed. I can sit with his best mate and both be OK with our tears.
There is power in just being with the memories.
And making peace with what was.