In April I heard that Marc passed away. 2 Years ago he went missing and I feared the worst, that fear is now a reality. Alcohol killed Marc, he was only 53. Many close to me wish that we never met, they want to erase the fact that we were together. This may make some uncomfortable but I need to work through this, I can’t just pretend that there was no impact, I can’t pretend that his death is insignificant. Allow me to acknowledge that I would not be who I am today if he had not played a part in the sum of me. Allow me to grieve.
This is my last letter to Marc, and I still feel that the words lack something
Marc you were exasperating (I hate saying were). You just wouldn’t be what I wanted you to be. I wanted you sober, you drank. I wanted you to be here, you left. I wanted you to be somewhere out there, alive, and now you’re not. You may not be alive, but you still feel near, maybe you’re closer than you’ve ever been, I don’t know. You live on, in your children, in music, in places where you made memories with those who entered your orbit. Fragments of you live on. You are not gone, and you are not forgotten. Your reality was not in sync with my reality. Were you a little mad? Who has the right to draw the borders of sanity? I’m glad that you weren’t normal, I’m glad that you marched to your own drum. You wouldn’t have been you, if you didn’t challenge, if you didn’t exasperate. I’m glad that there was no box which could hold you. I’m glad that you were an untamed soul. You were bloody infuriating.
Jan told me that she placed eagle feathers in your casket. How fitting, I always associated you with eagles, that day in Umgeni valley, when you played guitar on a rock. Oh you were so beautiful. I remember the call of a fish eagle, it wove into the moment. Our discussions on Kahil Gibran centred around freedom. You hungered for freedom in life, I believe that you have found it in death (f*k I hate that word). The eagle is a symbol of pure freedom.
I once wrote 3 lines, they were meant to be the framework for a poem about you, but I couldn’t find more words.
He had fire in his fingertips
An Eagle on his arm
A little boy chained in his eyes
I have lost the other poems which I wrote for you, I’m quite certain that one centred around the image of an eagle.
You challenged, you generated discomfort, you raged and sometimes you spoke more sense than the sanest of the sane, of course sometimes you talked shit. You were a ‘bad boy’ but a good man, the core of you was goodness, your sweet (sorry I can’t find another word) smile reflected that. That’s my perspective and my perception, you may disagree, others may disagree. You were so imperfect, the fact is, we all are, you just left the filters off.
You’ve been gone so many times in so many ways. Is death just another kind of gone? I’m not saying goodbye again, I just can’t.
I won’t say goodbye, but I will say thank you. Thank you for your part in who I am today, thank you for challenging my thoughts, perceptions and expectations. Thank you for the memories. Thank you for the searing pain, it was the flip side of a priceless coin. There is a word which I have avoided, it does not need saying and it feels too small, look inside me and read it, read it in the stars, read it in the air which holds the eagle.
There’s nothing more to say and words are chains. Be free
Another poem that I wrote for you in recent years