I experienced a lot of loss after his death. I lost my city because of all the paparazzi descending upon us. I actually lost my journal during that time, oddly enough. I literally couldn't hold on to anything.
Sentiment: NEGATIVE
It was very hard for all of us. It's still very hard. The anniversary of his death just passed, and every single one of his friends, still, after all these years... it's unbelievable.
When you have told anyone you have left him a legacy, the only decent thing to do is die at once.
Even with my father and brother dying, I didn't quite process the grief.
But more importantly, I think he remembered how very close I was with my own dad, who had died in 1997.
I lost two of the greatest men I've ever known to assassination - and a son to suicide.
I had written two or three books before my husband noticed that in every one of them a family member was missing. He suggested that it was because my father's death, when I was five, utterly changed my world. I can only suppose he is right and that this is the reason I am drawn to a narrative where someone's life is changed by loss.
I lost my dad way too early and it was agonisingly awful. I missed him so much and I hated knowing that I could never again pick up the phone to tell him about my day.
The first thing I tried to do in the months after losing my mother was to write a poem. I found myself turning to poetry in the way so many people do - to make sense of losses. And I wrote pretty bad poems about it. But it did feel that the poem was the only place that could hold this grief.
I picked up the writing on the very day he died. It was the only consolation I could find.
I think we brothers realised his loss more and more as we grew older. We actually grew closer after his death.