A Poem Of Grief

While searching through my Notes app yesterday, I came across a poem that I’d written 6ish years ago. I was in two minds of posting this, but I think it’s important to share the rawness of grief.

It was written shortly after the passing of my brother and the birth of my first child. My world was a blur, and I was struggling to comprehend and process the very mixed, raw emotions I was feeling.

My therapist had suggested I try experimenting with different mediums as a way to process what I was experiencing. I don’t remember much about writing this, but I remember thinking it wasn’t great. Ultimately, I ended up creating Happy Dev as a way to express myself and process my own grief.

In a car, speeding to the hospital,
Did I hear that right? The news felt impossible.
Heart pounding, hands gripping the wheel tight,
Fighting the dark, chasing the light.

We walk through the doors, my head is spinning,
"Is he okay?" I wonder, my chest tightening.
Then three words hit like a hammer to my head:
"Your brother, he's dead."

The spinning stops. The world caves in,
A broken heart where hope had been.
He's not alright — his fight is done,
My brother just eighteen, is gone.

I see my dad, stooped by the bed,
Holding his son's hand, his grief unsaid.
From birth to death, eighteen years flash by,
I see my brother's face and cry.
He's not even in peace on the day he dies.

I organise everything, as much as I can,
Because how do parents bury their child with a plan?
I call the funeral director; I see the sums,
Even in death, we owe the man.

The days blur; my brother still waits.
A funeral looms, held hostage by dates.
We play his favourite band and I take mum’s hand,
To tell her the truth, something impossible to say —
you can no longer see your boy today.

All the while, I'm about to become a dad.
How can a father find joy with grief so mad?
Joy and grief wrestle, tearing me apart,
Two worlds colliding, one breaking heart.

My daughter is born, just one month from the loss,
A fragile new life, a line I must cross.
A life for a life — some cosmic mistake,
Not a trade I would make, not a trade I could take.