This is the most difficult thing I have ever written in my life. The symbol above is of Pi. This is what my son Jesse had tattooed not that long ago. It held a great deal of meaning for him on a number of levels.

I will not be writing posts for some time, I have no idea how long. I send my apologies to those of you reading this who have expectations of posts. I fail you and for that I am sorry.
Last night I received a phone call from my daughter in Australia to tell me that my son had died. My brilliant, beautiful son is gone from this world. I will fly to Australia this week so my children and I may bury him with love. Chestnut Rau has written a loving tribute here which breaks my heart to read, but I read it over and over.

My mind is bubbling over with images of my son’s life: a series of frozen moments of time that refuse to stay buried, churned up to the surface by the sharpened knife of grief as it twists in my heart.


Below is a favourite piece of music, from a movie that we watched over and over so much when Jesse was a child that we wore out the video tape. The still photos are irrelevent, the music is not.