Slacking with Light

August 3, 2022

Dear Brook,

If you were here, earthside, right now, we’d be celebrating your 37th birthday. Likely we’d be gathered around a beach fire, sipping bourbon from a bottle and grinning at a star-filled sky. I’d be growing tired and you’d be dipping into the warm rhythm of your philosophy and poetry. Your body would be strong and straight, your hugs firm and full.

I’m wearing the ring you gave me on your birthday three years ago. The topographic lines and clear turquoise remind me of your generosity. On this day, I’m gifting you with the only thing I can give you that I think you may still experience: words from the world I know you love. I imagine you receiving them and spinning them into the universe, magnifying and multiplying them so your love and generosity spin and weave back into all of our lives.

About a month after we lost you, Zeba, Tonneson, and I spent an evening together. The three of us lit candles at your gravesite. We strolled through your garden, whacking sticks against poles like fierce warriors. Then we returned to the spot behind our parent’s house with the plan to build a fairy house for you. Tonneson soon headed inside, but Zeba and I found ourselves immersed in the project. We dug carefully chosen sticks into a small circle, placed plastic action figures around the perimeter, and adorned the sacred space with moss, lichen, leaves, and beautiful stones. We called it the “graveyard of fallen heroes” —of course, you were the most heroic of all. Zeba ran to find incense and candles which we lit for you, wafting sweet smoke through the cooling night air. The next day, we woke to an unexpected blanket of pure, white snow. Somehow, you’d heard Zeba’s desire for no school, and granted us a snow day. The land was quiet and full of that sparkling beauty of fresh-fallen snow.

This summer, we strung a slack line between the trees where we had built the circle. Just a few weeks ago, Zeba and I went to play on it. I hadn’t seen him use it before. We jumped and bounced and fell laughing off of it, over and over again. The dry pine needles crackled under our feet and the tall trees stood silent around us. I always cherish these moments with Zeba—and I was able at one point to stand back and simply watch him transition from the silliness toward something more serious and focused. I watched as he gathered himself on the line, placing his hands carefully on the guideline. I stood back and saw a quiet fall over Zeba. A bright warm light landed on his bare chest. His body was clear and calm and the midsummer light fell directly on his bare chest. It looked as if his heart was glowing. Zeba’s face was still and focused. Slowly, he released his hands from the guide and began to step across the thin strip of webbing and air. His arms out, his eyes focused, his breathing steady, he walked across the thin line until he reached the end and nearly ran, his face breaking into a proud, bright smile as he cheered “I did it!”

Do you remember how you helped Zeba learn to focus? I remember the way you’d sit with him, listening and reflecting. I remember the softness and strength you shared with him when he struggled to sleep or manage his anger. I remember how dedicated you were to helping him concentrate his immense power, and channel it toward the good and beautiful love living inside him rather than give into the chaos all around. That day on the slack line, I felt him consciously or unconsciously stepping toward all wisdom and strength you’d shared with him. At that moment, you wouldn’t have found a more proud mama or grateful sister.

I hope you know what an impact you’re having on each of us. Whether we know it or not, you’re in our lives, filling us with light and love and beauty every step of the way.

I miss you. And I’m grateful for the gifts you continue to give. Thank you and happy birthday.

Love,

Shey

P.S. As I wrote this, I was listening to this song. I believe you sent it to me as well.