You were buried today. Somewhere in Donegal, while I did a driving test. I last saw you about 10 years ago. Cancer, a young wife, a devastated family. You were 29 years old.
Thank you for giving me a handful of CDs to listen to, including Hello Starling by Josh Ritter which spellbound me straight away. (The rest is history!)
Thank you for shyly bringing me a heavy bag full of Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman. For liking me when I thought no one ever would.
You were never serious. You drank brandy at 19 and got in bar fights. You had a weirdly warped sense of humour. You lived for music. There were so many mad stories ten years ago, I bet they got more crazy as the years went on and the travelling intensified.
I’m debating whether to write to your family. I might. You really looked up to your brothers. A kind word can almost always help.
Praying and thinking about your parents, brothers and wife. The situation is shattering.
When I was 16 and you were 19 The Flaming Lips were your favourite. This song was on the first mix CD you made. It’s so relevant. I can’t stop singing it quietly. Liberated from suffering now, I hope you are always with your wife in spirit, and getting into stuff for free forever more.