We miss you, David.
I want to tell you things. I want to tell you that Ben and I got married last year. I couldn’t think of you much during that time, or dare to mention you for fear of losing it. And because of that I haven’t associated our wedding with you. But you’d have loved that day…and we’d have danced. Did you dance much? I can’t remember how you danced… Forgetting scares me.
I want to tell you that we’ve moved into a new house. A home. It’s small and lovely, very cute, very us. We have a vegetable garden and I’m doing alright at keeping everything alive. I’d have had you over for salads by now. I’d have made them with roasted vegetables, garden greens and goats cheese with a mustard olive oil dressing.
I want to tell you how I’m living life really well. You gave me that gift. The gift of knowing how short our time can be. Sometimes I catch myself apologising for living the way I want, without restrictions or boundaries or “shoulds”. Why is that? There is no need to be sorry for it. That’s your most precious gift to me. I love my family and friends and give myself to this world more because of you. I take opportunities and I create and I am kind to myself and I love so deeply. It hurts and it’s scary, but I do it anyway as I know that these are the days, the moments, and it can all be gone so suddenly. It’s an inspiring and heartbreaking truth. And my days, my life is better, richer and so lived because of this. Thank you.
But I wish you were here.
Yesterday you would have turned 31. Mum, Dad, Jackson, Ben and I all gathered together to make sausages, an activity you would have loved. Mainly for the end result. We used real intestines for casings, which was both gross and cool. Rosa was there in the morning, as were Nana and Roo. We ate scones and laughed. Then we got stuck into the serious sausage business. Pork and fennel, and spiced lamb.
And like every year, I made you biscuits.
This year, I honoured your love of those cheese biscuits we used to get from the Red Hill Market. Mum would bring home a box and by the end of the day they’d be gone, all of us equally guilty for stealing those cheesy, buttery rounds one by one.
Happy birthday, big brother.
Parmesan Shortbread (recipe link). Note: use a sharp parmesan here. Next time, I’ll be adding in fried bacon crumbs or perhaps a pinch of smoked paprika. Yes.
Thank you for all your kind words on instagram and twitter and via email and text. You guys are so supportive, it’s lovely.