I've had a wee bit of personal upheaval in the last few months... on 2 March 2011 my ex-husband (46 years old) died of heart failure. I have felt the need to write about it but there have been many reasons why I hesitated. It isn't an easy story to tell and it is very personal. So I have decided to share the story I told those at his funeral service. Needless to say Brian's story is a tragic one.
We meet when I was 16 years old and just like Romeo and Juliet (without the crazy families) we were drawn to one another. But I felt in my heart to get involved with him then would have been wrong. Instead we became friends. Brian was a guitar wielding, motorbike riding, animal liberationist and vegetarian. Notorious as the person who started a food fight at my school formal. A rebel with a wicked sense of humor.
We just hung out and did all the things that you do when you are a teenager in a small city. Went to parties, snuck into pubs to see bands and sat in cafes talking about music, politics, and how we would change the world while eating banana splits and toasted sandwiches.
Back then his main passions were chocolate, motorbikes, soccer, music, reading and politics that never changed much over the years. As an anarchist he got into a spot of bother for trying to throw eggs at the Queen when she visited Dunedin.
On Guy Fawkes Day, 3 months before I turned 18 he told me that he loved me. We moved in together not long after.
Our relationship was never plain sailing. We were so young and we each had our own demons and insecurities but when the girls (Lucy and Billie) came along we found our feet. Brian adored the girls. They are now incredible young women and I am so proud of both of them.
In our latter years together Brian’s battle with depression and addiction became harder to manage. We would separate and then get back together a pattern repeated a few times. But in 2006 we separated for good.
Despite the hard times we had together I have very few regrets. Without Brian’s support, encouragement and love I would never have gone back to study. He was by my side when I graduated. He also became the primary caregiver so I could go back to work full-time. Twenty-two years together is a successful marriage.
He was my first real love, my childhood sweetheart, my heart breaks that he wont be around to see his grandchildren, get another dog or perfect the latest classical guitar piece he was working on.
My fondest memories of Brian are coming home to a house filled with music and the laughter of children; of sharing cakes of chocolate while watching the Simpsons - those wonderful days when we were a family together.
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Our lives have returned to normal now except that we all still have moments of feeling incredibly sad. Grief is a sneaky bugger and I expect there will be moments of sadness for some time. His family in NZ have been absolutely amazing and incredibly supportive. Our daughters are in New Zealand with them now. They took Brian's ashes home so they could be buried with his mother and the family could say goodbye.
Brian's heart failure is directly related to his drug addiction. The irony is that I am not surprised that he died from a broken heart. He was a poet, song-writer, an amazing guitarist and a wonderful loving father. But living with depression isn't easy and coupled with addiction even harder. He was loved and he will be missed by those who knew him. Thank you to my boyfriend, family, friends and colleagues that have been there over the last couple of months. Me te aroha nui ki a koutou katoa.
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Photo 1: Brian by Annie Baird
Photo 2: Brian, Gordon, Ivan - three brothers on bikes
