BENJAMIN J. SCHAAFSMA (September 7, 1982 - October 25, 2008)
The day Ben died, I walked to the harbour. The day after he died, I walked to the top of Mt.Eden/Maungawhau with the intent to think of him and read a few things aloud.
There were tourists at the top of the dormant volcano...laughing loudly and listening to their tour guides. "Somewhere at the bottom of the hill...there is a large stone. After battles, they'd lay the bodies of their dead or the enemies dead upon it", I wasn't close enough to make out which.
As I went to read aloud, I felt indulgent and embarrassed.
"My back is wet from sweat...my ass is wet from the moisture on the ground." I couldn't help but dwell on my inability to be taken over by some great feeling...some great peace...some great grief. And I realize that this is it...the wet ass, the people laughing, the weight of my body as I walked up the hill, the stupid moment when I tried to read and heard my voice. The everyday. Thankyou, Ben.