Tag: death

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A story of mourning and healing

One year ago today, I lost a friend, a brother, a fellow Stag King. When I mourned my friend, I struggled to find a story that described this process, and then I found this one.

I recorded it this morning. I’m still a bit congested, so I apologize for the odd sound of my voice.

As I remember my friend today, remember that you are not alone.

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Dear Dad

Dear Dad,
 
It was 9 years ago today that you closed the workshop for the last time and moved on past the Veil. 9 years! Someone was asking me about you just the other day and I said “He passed just a couple of years ago… No wait… It’s been almost 10 years!” Amazing.
 
In some ways, I’ve had lots of change in my life, some good, some bad, and some things have made me stronger, ever-striving to be a better man. Some things have not changed at all, but I’m happy to say that those aspects of my life are what make me happy.
 
You and I were very different people, but it’s also easy to see that I was your son. You created beauty with your hands, while I used my voice. We are both loners at heart, but we loved the company of good people. If we saw a need, we responded immediately and do what we could to meet that need. You taught me that lesson and I’m forever grateful to live by your example.
 
You were loved by all who knew you. I knew it back then, but I see it now too when your old friends see your face in mine: their expression softens, and smiles are spiced with nostalgic tears.
 
Today, I want you to know that I’m living a good life. This past weekend, I had a bad fall, but I was immediately supported by friends and loved ones, new and old. They made sure I was safe, held my hand, soothed my fears, and told me to shut up and let them take care of everything.
 
Friends, family, love, and community. That’s what you taught me Dad, this is your legacy and I’m living it. I love you, and although those were not words we said to each other often, it was a sentiment that flowed unabated not only between us, but through us, and outward to make this world better.
 
Rest well. I’ll be thinking of you today.
 
Your son,
David
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The Month of Death 2016

Rickman: Hey David.

Bowie: Alan? You too? What took you down?

Rickman: Cancer. You?

Bowie: Me too. Fuck Cancer.

Rickman: Fuck Cancer. With a spoon.

Lemmy: Fuck Cancer!

Rickman: Who’s that guy?

Lemmy: I thought this was the rock star section. They let just anyone in here?

Bowie: Apparently. I’m been searching for Crosby, but I haven’t had much luck.

Lemmy: David Crosby’s dead too?!?

Bowie: No, no… Bing Crosby. Before your time. Before my time, really, if truth be told.

Rickman: I can play the cello…

Lemmy: No you can’t. You’re an actor. You can act like you play the cello. I saw Truly, Madly, Deeply wise-ass.

Rickman: … Asshole.

Bowie: So what do we do now?

Lemmy: We could jam. Maybe actor-boy could learn how to play the spoons.

Angelil: Salut les boys.

Rickman: Who the fuck are you?

Angelil: Calisse… I’m Rene. If there’s one thing I knew how to do in the old life is spot talent early on, and I mean *early* on. Stick with me les gars and we will rock this place.

Original piece written by JD Hickey
January 2016

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Why Patricia Left

At the last Slamtastique Story Slam that I hosted, I told a story about why Patricia left. Patricia Flewwelling is a published author who works at TELUS, but also worked at Cafe Mariposa, which is where the Story Slam now takes place. And I’ll admit it right here: I’ve had a bit of an unrequited crush on her for a while. It’s no secret.

But new adventures have flung our beloved Patricia far and wide, but few know the real reason, so I decided to tell the masses the *real* reason why she left us. Now that I’ve heard the recording, I can tell I told it a bit too fast (the pace is off), but I’ll fix that with some practice in the future.

When Patricia met Death in the Market

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The passing of two storytellers

This year (2015), we lost two great storytellers. One was my dear friend Jack Nissenson who passed on June 24th. He was being treated for health complications at St. Mary’s hospital when he passed unexpectedly in his sleep. He was 82. This is a recording of the last story he performed in front of an audience.

The other was my friend Brother Bear (‎Frère Ours) who died suddenly in his sleep in August. He wasn’t a close friend, but we traveled in similar circles and performed together. He was a gentle bon vivant and a brilliant storyteller.

Unfortunately, I could not attend his funeral, but it was recorded and posted on his Facebook page.

A video homage was made of him telling stories, playing music, and singing songs. It represents him pretty well.