Conversations with my brother.

It’s a funny thing, life.

How we spend years under the same roof, intimately familiar with each other’s morning hair and how we prefer our coffee, but we don’t talk.

About the important things. The things that reveal the state of our breath — whether our hearts are bleeding, still.

We dance around the inane and get distracted by that which tells nothing.

And this goes on for years. A revolving door of pleasantries; tip-toeing around the marrow of our hurts.

Until.

We’ve had a few of those, haven’t we?

Those moments where the earth stops spinning on its axis and the breath is sucked from our lungs with a fierce ferocity.

And instead of drawing closer, we draw apart.

To heal, we say, but, what we really mean is to hide.

And here we are, with years on our faces and life has caused a geographical divide to bloom between us. But, our hearts — connected by unseen strands of the familiar, still recognise each other.

Each still knows the other’s laughter.

And I now, recognise the pain that you carry within your bones.

It is mine, too.

An unwanted gift with nowhere to call home, except the inside of our DNA.

This is the thing that connects us — this knowledge of things experienced that were never meant to be.

But they were.

And with it, our hearts were eviscerated.

We know this now.

At last.

It is still raw. This pain. Although, now, mercifully wrapped in the tissue that our bodies produce when the thing that will not leave us, is too great to constantly be paraded in our memories.

And now, even though our branches have grown apart, our roots remain entwined.

Love has held us.

Yes.

It has.

And I am watching you tentatively take the first steps on the same journey that I once had to take.

Negotiating the fear; facing the unknown with only the certainty of today, cupped within your desperate hands.

My heart holds you up.

I see you.

Together we are standing before the One who showed me grace when I least deserved it. Favour; for reasons still unknown to me.

And you are not alone.

I am here. Oceans apart but holding your hand.

Trusting the great unknown to the only Known that has never let me down.

It is all that I have, and it is everything that I possess.

And it will be enough.

This Love will cover you, and it will keep you.

And until we get to stand within each other’s embrace once again.

Just hold on.

It will be ok.

— Conversations with my brother.

Guard your heart.

This

tender

heart of

mine.

I fight a war,

every

single

day,

to keep it

soft.

— Guard your heart. Fight a war over it if you must, but keep it soft.

(I look for) Beauty in the midst of.

If I should

die,

before

I had hoped

to.

Remember

me

as one who

listened

for the nightingale’s

song

in the darkness.

— (I look for) Beauty in the midst of.

Choose (your) peace.

Do not use

the stones

that were

thrown

at

you,

as

ammunition.

You,

can be

a strong

and

peaceful place.

If

you

choose

to be.

— Choose (your) peace.

On healing (from the past).

I am

seeking

out

all the

places

where

my voice

was

stolen.

Leaving

poems

filled with

flowers,

in exchange.

— On healing (from the past).

Facing your giants

You cannot

do

the hard work

of

healing,

until you have

grappled

with

honesty.

About them.

About yourself.

Until then,

you will

forever

return

to a place of

brokenness.

Honesty, is the key.

To healing.

To freedom.

— Facing your giants.

.

.

It has been a hard, hard week for me on so many levels. And this… this is where I am. Facing my giants.

Healing is hard work.

It’s dirt-under-your-fingernails, relentless work. And it requires a deep commitment to honesty.

About the ones who have hurt you, and about yourself — particularly if you have tried to escape past hurts by addictive behaviours.

It all starts with honesty.

On mourning (that which was never given).

You

are allowed

to

mourn

all that you did not

receive.

As a child.

As an adult.

But,

do not

dwell

there

permanently.

Grief,

is both

a gift

and

a jailer.