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She looks at
the mark upon
my left wrist.
“What’s that supposed to be?”
She almost reaches
out to touch
it. I reach
out and rub
it with my
the thumb of
my right hand.
“It’s the symbol for the Deathly Hallows.”
She give me
a look, wrinkling
her face at
me and looks
back down at
the tattoo. A
thought goes off
inside her head,
as if she
a light bulb
inside there and
smiles at me.
“Oh! It’s from Harry Potter! You must be quite the fan then!”
I nod and
say to her
“Yes, I’m quite the fanboy.”
I leave it
at that. She
doesn’t need to
know the real
symbolism behind the
tattoo. The symbol
refers to The
Master of Death.
That one who
has the cloak,
the wand and
the resurrection stone
will be the
Master of Death.
In a way,
I conquered my
own death. I
carry those thoughts
with me, of
how when I
first got sick,
I was lost
and had no
idea what was
going to happen
to me. I was
lost within myself,
afraid of every
sound, every movement.
If I looked
around me, I
could see the
trees of the
Forbidden Forest. I
wondered what nightmares
waited within it?
It felt as
if I had
already died, already
went beyond the Veil.
As I lost
myself in the
forest, there came
a time when
I almost let
the Dementors win,
almost let them
perform their Kiss.
However, the light
within me was
stronger and despite
my fear, my
Patronus came to
life, shining out
of me in
the form of
a wolf. I
crawled back from
death, mastering the
temptations of darkness
that wanted to
hold onto me
and went towards
the light instead,
embracing the light
within. So it’s
not just a
fanboy tattoo. It’s
a reminder of
how strong I
am.
I knew it
would be a
day of opposites.
In the morning,
saying farewell to
one life and
in the evening,
celebrating another. In
the end, however,
there was joy
and sadness at
both. The funeral
celebrated a life
long lived of
a much loved
man, one who
gave his children
love and a
life filled with
happiness. As I
stood there with
the mourners, I
noticed people reminiscing
the life of
this man and
how the people
in this room
had loved him
and had been
loved by him.
There were smiles
as people greeted
others they hadn’t
seen for a
while, laughter as
they shared stories
from the past
and tears as they
finally said goodbye.
With voices raised
in song, I
could feel him
there and knew
that he was
with us all.
Later, we drove
to the birthday
party, celebrating a
life lived for
seventy years. The
family were gathered
to cherish her
life, to share
in her joy, but
also her sorrow.
There were too
many people that
weren’t there with
all of us,
too many whose
lives were taken
too soon. So
while it was
a celebration, it
was also a
remembrance for those
who were not
there in the
physical sense. However,
looking around at
all the people
in the room,
I knew that
those lost to
us were there
anyway, filling the
empty chairs amongst
us. We raised
a glass to
them and as
we all clinked
glasses, the room
was filled with
light. That light
was filled with
joy and sorrow,
pain and forgiveness.
As we drank
to them, we
remembered them. In
the end, neither
event was full
of just sorrow
or just joy.
It was all
about balance. I
knew that the
day left me
changed and even
more grateful for
the life that
I have.
When we were
younger, we spoke
our own language.
It would be
undecipherable to the
casual listener, but
it was our
own tongue, one
that only we
could understand. As
we grew older,
teachers would keep
us apart in
different classrooms, afraid
that we would
cheat on tests
by delving into
the other ones
mind to see
what they saw.
This was a
falsehood, but the
one thing that
has held true
to this day
is that we
feel each others
pain. I could
be miles away
from him and
have no way
of knowing what
he was doing,
but yet would
know with absolute
certainty that he
was in trouble.
This was the
case this week
when my left
eye started hurting
and parts of
me simply throbbed
in agony, yet
looked completely fine.
My head ached
and walking was
more difficult than
usual but I
could find no
cause. When my
mother called, she
told me that:
“Your brother has new symptoms. His eye is swollen and he’s having further complications. It may be new developments in his illness…”
As she talked,
I felt this
immediate sense of
relief, followed by
a hollowing out
of grief. Relief
because the symptoms
were not my
own, grief over
him, even though
he did not
want it. An
ocean of time
separated him and
I, twenty years
of silence. Yet,
even though I
no longer knew
who he was
and the life
he led, he
was still my
brother. Even though
the silence was
thick like the
mist over water,
an impenetrable fog,
I still loved
him. That night,
I lit a
candle and said
a short prayer:
“Instead of feeling my pain, feel my love for you. Instead of feeling ill, I hope you feel this.”
I hugged myself
tightly, hoping that
the hug and
the light it
held would be
strong enough to
make it through
the fog and
over the ocean
of time.
I was sitting in the clouds
when I first saw you.
Looking down on the world
that I’d removed myself from,
it was your light that I
saw first, that brilliant light
that shone from you, right
up to the clouds. I was
happily blinded, just for
a moment, your light being
brighter than the sun.
I looked around me and
saw a paradise that had
all of a sudden turned dull.
It was one I had created
but it was empty.
It was not paradise without
you, an empty dream
without you beside me.
I knew I had to find you,
but to do that, I would
have to set foot on
the land I had left so long
ago. I let myself fall
through the clouds,
their gossamer tendrils trying
to slow my fall to the earth.
The clouds let out a
soft whisper, as if already
longing for me. I fell to
the ground to find myself
at the entrance to a forest,
towering trees dark and
looming over me. I knew
that you were on the
other side of the forest
and that I would have
to find my way through.
I took the first step and
then another, wondering how
many steps I would have
to take until I found you.
I took another step forward
and found myself in
amongst the darkness
of shadow and twilight.
The world looked different here
I felt even more lost, even more
confused. I knew that I
just had to keep walking
forward and that I
would find you. I could
see glints of light through
the leaves that I thought (hoped)
was your light. I moved forward.
I did not know that the journey
through the forest would last
for so long. I was still
a lost boy, no longer sure what
I was searching for. I wished
for you in the darkness,
the shadows were my blankets
against the cold. In the dark,
I wished for you. Inside the shadows,
I yearned for you, even though
I wasn’t sure you existed anymore.
I spent years inside the forest,
getting to know every nook and
cranny, every brook and stream,
every bird of prey and every day,
I still wished for you.
I no longer remembered what
you looked like, I could only
picture your light and imagine
its warmth. One day, I finally
gave up hope. I let go of
the wish and watched it fly
away from me, through the leaves
of the trees that were high above me.
I walked on inside the forest,
Shadow and Darkness old friends
by now, their voices like the wind.
I missed the whisper of the clouds.
Still, I walked forward. I could see
a chink of light through the
trunks of the trees, could hear
something moving in front of
me, coming closer. Shadow and
Darkness flew away, afraid of the light.
I stood there, afraid of what
had come looking for me,
terrified of what had found me.
Then, the light grew even brighter
and you were standing in front of me,
a silhouette that shone bright.
I walked towards you.
“You found me.”
I said.
“I’ve been wandering forever, searching for you.”
You regarded me, your features
becoming clearer as my own light
started to shine. You took my hand.
“I’ve been searching for you.”
You said.
“I wasn’t sure you existed, but you are proof that dreams do come true.”
We watched as the trees
began to twist and bend,
giving us a way through.
We walked forward,
no longer lost.
The idea of
family is foreign
to me. Growing
up, I had
a family, but
I always felt
like I didn’t
belong. I was
the black sheep
wearing a second
skin, the unknowable
one, bearing myself
to every one,
the odd one
out. I was
alone within my
family. I never
fit in. I
wanted too much,
needed too much.
I loved the
wrong people. They
were not my
family. Since then,
I’ve built a
family of the
heart, friends that
I love like
sisters and brothers,
a family chosen
with the heart
and not by
chance. When I
met my partner,
I knew that
he had a
large family, a
mother and uncles,
aunts and cousins.
I worried over
this, not having
much experience at
fitting in to
a family, being
part of a
tribe. I didn’t have
that within my
roots, so could
I find that
within the leaves?
I approached this
family unit with
some trepidation. How
should I behave?
He looked over
at me and said:
“They’re going to love you as much as I do.”
Over time, I
grew to know
all of them.
They were good
people, kind people.
They proved to
me that families
didn’t have to
be broken or
dysfunctional. They could
be a unit,
be a tribe.
As more time
passed, the branches
on the tree
that rested inside
of me began
to grow new
buds and grow
new growth. As
even more time
passed, I grew
to love them.
Recently, while at
a family gathering,
one of the
uncles looked at
me and said:
“I’m so glad your part of this family.”
The leaves unfurled
completely and flowers
started to bloom.
I was no
longer the black
sheep. I was
one of them.