From "Little Love Stories that make up our Lives"

The night he was shot, I was walking south towards a central park playground with Oisin.  We were having a good day, going to maybe play a little soccer while waiting for our friends to join us- suddenly I felt the wind blowing up from the south and on that warm October day, and I was instantly drained and cold- all I could do was get Oisin into a sit-down pizza shop and order a soup to try to pull in my draining strength.  When we got home that evening (the kids: Oisin, and my friend Sarah’s little girl Ase), my friend Dawn Zuppelli called.  She was going on about something, I had no idea what it was- as usual she was talking so fast, my dear Zoom -Zoom Zuppelli.  She said “Don’t tell me I am the first to tell you this terrible news, this terrible, terrible news”…What are you on about, I was thinking, and then (as still), I just could- not wrap my mind around it.  I laughed- “it can not be true; it is a mistake.  If it were true he would have went out as he loved with his camera in his hands”.  The connection faded.  I dropped the phone.  I went to the door and once again that Friday evening, the wind was blowing up fiercely from the south, I felt the Indigenous voices on the wind, blowing the leaves on the birch trees.  I cried and punched the wall.  I slid to the floor and listened to the wind.  It is time to let go at the moment of death, we can-not hold on to those who leave this earth before us.  I felt his hand come close to me that night, white and ether- real and I said to the wind: “you must go.  Be at peace. “ His number is still in my phone.  I called it so many times to hear his voice on the machine. 

So many times I thought I saw him on the sidewalk.  I would just expect him to turn up with a load of unedited raw footage to ingest and edit.  I do not want to write these words.  I do not want to admit even now that he will not be coming back.