15 April 2018


I have never experienced writer's block before, but I have now. I have not been able to write for three weeks. On the 26th of March, our nephew took his own life. Aged only 26, he had been tormented by bipolar disorder of the most severe type for several years. We can only hope he is at peace. I have now written this in his memory.

A boy no more

A little boy brimming with hope
Exuding joy from every pore.
Giggling with puppies, swimming with fish,
Bouncing balls with supernatural skill.
A young boy who wanted nothing but
To make the world a better place for all.
A young man who wanted love
For everyone and everything
And gave his freely to all he beheld.
He loved people, trees and dogs.
He loved to walk in the woods
And swim in the oceans, rivers and lakes.
A spiritual man who believed that
We are here for a higher purpose –
one we have yet to discover.
A kind and gentle spirit who
Took good care of his wellbeing
With natural sustenance and hearty lifestyle
Studied nutrition to discover how
to make the most of this body
that hosts us on our earthly journey.
He cared about all beings with a
Sensitivity that may have overwhelmed
A lesser man than our brave lad.

But the gods are cruel in their own
Cruel way. They shrouded his mind in a
Unnatural sheath that had no adjustments
And came with no instructions.
This semipermeable mem-brain, once light and happy,
Sometimes let much too much pass through,
Other times closed to let nothing in.
From on high, everything was possible.
But nothing begot nothing from below.
Doctors had no answers, only pills and potions.
But medicine didn’t fix things, only plastered over it.
On an even keel was not living.
He tried to deal with it, as only he could.
Searching for answers among those who knew.
And coming back to us from time to time
To give us a momentary glimpse
Of the young lad we knew and loved so dearly.

Yet, life grew more burdensome and
the battle proved too onerous.
Powerful demons devoured his spirit.
Drove him to the cliff’s edge in search
Of a better place, a refuge from the mind
That started out so beautiful and kind
And now was relentless in its daily assault.
What was on the other side, he reckoned,
Must be better than what he suffered here.
One attempt, then two, despite denying all, 
three was the day that we got the call
that our little boy was no more.
His soul took flight into the universe
Unbound by this earth’s crushing weight.

Fly, free spirit, fly, find peace at last. 

bipolar affective disorder

1 comment:

  1. I'm so sorry for your loss, Daria. This is a lovely tribute to you nephew. Keeping you in my thoughts - Ellen