When my grief was new and raw, I discovered that feeling it was preferable to the numbness that had set in since we’d buried themLast week, I swam in the sea, slowly wading in until the water reached my hips, and then diving under the softly rippling waves. Clear jellyfish gleamed from the sand. Turning over to float on my back, I let my limbs and hair drift around me, and I thought about the spectral presence-absence of my father and brother, who drowned on a very hot summer’s day more than 30 years ago.My memories of the time when they drowned veer up in summer, especially on certain hot days ending with thunderstorms. Anyone who’s spent a summer in Victoria knows the kind of day that marks the end of a heatwave. It starts off hot, everyone kicking off their bedcovers before it’s time to get up. The temperature hasn’t dropped below 30C all night and possibly all week. The sky is a hard blue at midday, and it seems nothing will break the heat, despite the weather bureau’s promises. Then the wind picks up. By late afternoon, the sky darkens as though night has come early. Wind whooshes through trees, fire sirens wail, and the thunder starts rolling. Soon the rain sets in, and we open our windows to let in the cool air as the temperature drops. Continue reading...