the tourniquet glance...

Here's a song I wrote a while back. Words are from a poem I wrote about Hunter. My father-in-law said he liked it.

http://soundcloud.com/hdw3/the-tourniquet-glance

and later that night...

The sound of the distressed mother yelling her son's name in Walmart was what made me realize I hadn't thought of my brother in a while. Hunter. She yelled it, not so much yelled it, but stressed the fact loudly that this Hunter had better cease and desist whatever the hell he was doing. My eyes got puffy and I felt a little sick. I was in line at the time paying for whatever I felt I needed that particular evening. Canned mandarine oranges, popsicles and a small fan I guess. Forgot the cat food though. I'd felt silly enough even being inside Walmart. I'm one of those hypocrites who bitches about Walmart but still manages to frequent the place twice a week for something or another.

I heard her voice saying Hunter. I had to ask rhetorically Is that your son's name. She responded the affirmative. They must have noticed my face and demeanor. The man, the boy's father noted that it was a powerful name. Indeed. I wanted to stay and chat with these strangers. Walmart strangers at that. Just because their unruly kid had the same name as my brother. I felt something. A connection. I don't believe in connections like that though. A name? That's not a connection, it's a coincidence. It got me though. Missing your brother, having nothing to give, nothing to really so much receive anymore, you take what little bit of something you can. That's a force. Nearly six years now. That's a force.

HunterFest 3

Just now beginning to think about the 2011, third annual HunterFest event. Maybe we've learned a thing or two in the first two years. Maybe. The first year, we were winging the whole thing. It was really pretty great. Decent crowd, considering it was not at all publicized, it was 47 degrees and rainy, and it was a bit out of the way, in Berea. We raised more money in donations than I would have expected. Year 2 was in some ways a disaster. On EKU's campus, homecoming weekend, our hopes and expectations were very high. Too much traffic, too little planning, lack of communication. We had a nice time overall, but the stress before and delays just left us - those involved in the actual event - pretty bummed about the whole ordeal. Year 3, we're leaning toward going back to the mountains in Berea. First year was just so much more intimate, and we lost that in year 2. Will update as the story unfolds.

Time heals all wounds, it's a lie, I believe.
Scott Miller wrote that, while still with the V-Roys. Time doesn't heal all wounds. Time may help wounds. Time may conceal wounds, maybe. But it won't heal them.
I had considered drafting a long, wordy essay about grief or losing a loved one or something. My intentions were fine but I'd have been faking it. It's too personal and far too individual of a subject. You can't put a blanket over it. We all feel different things at different times. No one needs a book to learn how to properly grieve. One might think they do and maybe they get something out of it, maybe something in there applies to them. But it's a unique experience for everyone. Plus, I could never adequately do such a thing anyway. I still have all his things in my garage after nearly seven years. Just can't seem to get through all the damn t-shirts and toys and little gadgets and literally thousands of CDs and cassettes. Odd to even write that. It's just stuff. And it's all right out there cluttering my garage. Some day I'll get to it. Some day.

as time passes

As time passes, my brother's memory lingers. The hurt of loss is not as concentrated as it once was. It has been nearly six years now. I often feel neglectful to his memory. I feel like I'm not doing something that I should, though I really don't know what it is I'm not doing. His only son, my nephew, is the same age as my oldest son. I feel I could be more for him, and keep telling myself that as he gets older I can and will be. But 400 miles separates us and we only get down to visit family about every other month. But remembering a lost loved one is tricky. Time obviously helps the grief to get easier but that easing of grief brings the feeling of forgetting and neglect. I'm not sure a day passes without me thinking of him, though maybe some days it does. So odd and unnatural to lose a brother before his time.

cometbus

The name Aaron Cometbus crossed my head and I'm not sure why. One of those predicaments that it's best to follow and not question. Hunter was always trying to get me to read Cometbus. I'm not sure why I seldom appeased him. He was too good for me. My brother, and his writer/drummer friend. I read a few pages and moved on to something else, nothing or shooting hoops or re-re-reading damn Salinger as usual. Still, this name, Cometbus, it peaked into my head from nowhere, obviously brought about by the clear existence of the spirit of my brother. He's dead, he's not gone entirely. I'm not a religious, nor non-religious, nor even spiritual person per se, but he's around. He's around. I should read some Cometbus. I'm sure there's plenty in the boxes of his stuff out in my garage

25 January

January is an odd looking word. I just realized that. The spelling does not look quite right. Lots of words of that way. I'll never understand "conscience" - con science. No way that's a word. But it is. No way Hunter would have been 31 years old today. But he would have been. Five and a half years. Long time, but not really. One of those always / never; sometimes / maybe things. Like the Goddamn shadows and flickering lights and pennies and inconsistencies I cannot comprehend. January 25. Once each year. Carry on my brother.