Gregory Hudson

“Give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak knits up the o-er wrought heart and bids it break.”

― William Shakespeare, Macbeth

The last of the summer Dionysian Hollyhocks in my Garden

Grief and responsibility are two words that I am feeling right now after the death of my older brother Greg, or some call him Gregory.

When I was young, he was a fun and challenging responsible brother. As I got older, I found him distant and lacking the kind of responsibility that comes from a life that is often not perfect. We all have our demons, but Greg was not shy about his.

I am not going to write about his life here.

I have studied many esoteric books and I can give Greg the respect of inspiring me to look this direction.

He studied Rudolf Steiner and I others. I think we studied and experienced our share of mysticism and occult as well as Native American spirituality. We both grew up on the same hills that were wild and whimsical… calling us to our natural spirituality of questions.

I have learned that after death we are given the ability to look over our lives. All the good things and bad. What we did to ourselves and others. Yet when a family member dies, we too ‘the living’ indirectly go through a parallel experience.

I am letting my psyche grieve out. Like the rain today that is a gentle sprinkling while shearing, the cosmos gives back gems and reflections of memories too.

I love my brother Greg and I will miss him showing up out of nowhere, to get a pint from the local Pickwick pub with some Fish and Chips. He was not dependable, but he had a unique pattern about him that made life fun.

I have come to realize that I am a responsible person. Greg was too as a teacher who had good friends.

I like to document things, write, and take care of my family. I wish Greg followed through with some of his writing project ideas.

I can say that Greg had a good life holding many adventures, trials and loves. I wish him well on his journey away from us. I hope when he comes to me during his retrospection of life, he will find one of his four siblings doing what they do as reasonably happy and forgiving.

This is what we humans are made up of, our contrary ways. None of us get away with anything…

Greg had a dark side too. Our family does… standing up to them has been something I had to do. I am glad I did. “So It Goes.”

“So it’s true, when all is said and done, grief is the price we pay for love.”

― E.A. Bucchianeri, Brushstrokes of a Gadfly.

April 22, 22. A new edition to this real narrative.

An image / watercolor has come back to me. Greg sent this to me once. My mother framed it for me. She always kept the image in house. After they passed it soon was gone. One day Greg decided to go throughout my parent’s house. Cleaning and maybe taking things. He had some strange notion that the images and art on my parent’s walls had some vast hidden child favoritism. I did not see it that way. Yet my mom had a way of preserving many of the things of her kids. This image is one of them. So, the journey of this image is a profound one.

First in the 1970s Greg created it and sent it to me. I loved. Mom and I framed it. (1972) Then after our parent’s died Greg took the painting back with him to northern California. (2013) After Greg’s death his x-wife returned the watercolor back to me. (2022)

From Northern California Siobhan mailed it to Missoula Montana. My sister Sallie received it and mailed it back to me in southern California.

A strange journey for a watercolor.

It reminds me of the film The Ninth Configuration (also known as Twinkle, Twinkle, “Killer” Kane). A sign was meant to be given to one of two friends. Whoever died first would give that special message. That life goes on after death.

I think this is a good affirmation from my brother that life goes on. My brother loved me. I loved him and thinking back to when I was a very young girl that meant all the world to me.

I went in shock after receiving this watercolor. Now the watercolor is framed and hangs on our living room wall near the hearth. Near mom’s clock frame which Greg hated. He wanted to through it against the wall every time it played this tune. “The Way We Were.”

Gorda Springs, Big Springs California.

May ’72.

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