Winner GLBT category
Been six months,
to the day,
since my anarchist,
died.
I miss him,
it’s a constant,
always there.
I look for him,
for his humour,
for his counsel,
for his intellectual rigour,
no one,
was ever like him,
no one,
ever will,
be.
A true original,
a big burly,
sweaty,
joyous man,
who bit into life,
with gusto and excess,
with passion,
with tenderness,
for his fellow man,
not complaisance,
love.
He went way too quickly.
He was one of those,
pain will pass,
keep walking,
things will work out,
kind of men.
I know some of,
his friends,
are angry at him,
for not,
taking better care of himself.
I am not one of those.
He died dramatically,
in a flash,
much as he lived.
His appetites,
were not those of an old man,
even an older man.
He remains,
forever etched,
in our collective memories,
as a young and a middle aged man,
laughing,
smoking,
filling our world,
with his presence,
with his good humour,
with his rocket fuel coffee,
and,
indignation.
Appreciating him as he was,
means,
accepting his passing.
I do.
That,
in no way,
means,
I don’t miss him.
I do,
very much.
Grief and dealing with death,
is a much larger part,
of growing older,
than,
I would have thought.
I guess,
I forget,
mostly,
that I am getting older,
and,
so is,
everyone else,
around me.
I look in the mirror,
vain ole butch like me does that a lot-wink,
and,
I am occasionally surprised,
at the older woman,
I see,
reflected,
I am by no means,
old,
but,
older,
I am.
Weird,
seems like yesterday,
I was thirty,
I suppose in a larger,
cosmic sense,
it was,
yesterday.
I didn’t need,
Francoys’s death,
to illustrate my mortality,
to me,
nor will I,
now,
commence,
to eat,
nothing but,
wheat germ and distilled water,
nor take up,
sky diving,
or going to raves.
I take better care,
of myself,
I have for some time,
but,
I,
too,
wish to live,
my life,
my way.
With joy and compassion,
for the world,
and,
also,
anger and frustration,
at the world,
as it is.
Keep walking,
keep going,
grab the love you can,
don’t worry too much,
about the opinion of others,
consider the source,
and listen to yourself,
and to your people,
take the time,
work,
create,
love.
Enjoy the everyday,
the wind,
the music,
the struggle too,
keeps you,
alive.
The lessons of grief?
It’s hard,
losing people we love,
I know, major insight there!!
our ‘world’ is the poorer,
for it,
they live on,
with us,
in our hearts,
in our memories,
in our stories,
and anecdotes,
but,
they leave gaping holes,
our landscape,
forever changed.
We take up a new,
route,
path,
walk,
life.
I have always been a big believer,
in,
What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger,
but,
maybe it’s more like,
what doesn’t kill you, doesn’t kill you.
For a few days,
now,
I have been listening,
to Barbara,
the great French singer,
she was my anarchist’s favourite.
One of her songs,
Dis Quand Reviendras Tu?
tell me when are you coming back?, lose translation,
has a line,
that I like very much,
I am not of those who dies from grief.
Life goes on,
we remember,
we grieve,
but,
we live.
Later girls,
BB
