i stood

cw: end of life mention

over a year ago a beautiful person i was working with died, fairly suddenly from a brain tumour. we didn’t spend much time together at work but we were often in the same car share in the morning. every morning that we were, my day was brightened because Jennifer had a smile like nothing else. She was deaf, and over many car rides together i learnt how best to communicate for the brief time we shared a leather seat, rolling through Cumbria at 8am. The rain was a frequent topic, and to communicate my frustration I would look to the window, then roll my eyes, and Jennifer would grin, her eyes like two bridges, as if to say “I know, right”. The definition of silence entirely changed.

After she passed I immediately went swimming, feeling that the weight of her absence would somehow be alleviated by water. I then tried to write a poem. It was originally posted on here under the title the day you died, i swam, because poeticism had no place. I could only try to fold myself out through plot. This poem continued to be edited over the year, to no avail. The words felt swollen and infected.

I realised that this has been the ontology of my grief. So I turned to another form of expression to see if, within that, Jennifer, or I, could take shape. Above is a soundscape of music and words made from my bedroom, and edited in my bedroom.

Even if in fragments — this is how we remember. Jennifers smile, and my skin in the river. how i stood.

*the first time i lost somebody i thought it much easier to believe she disappeared into a travelling circus. highly recommend.