Death of a Friend and Musician Brings Forth Reflection for an Entire Town

"I am going to concentrate on what's important in life. I'm going to strive everyday to be a kind and generous and loving person. I'm going to keep death right here, so that anytime I even think about getting angry at you or anybody else, I'll see death and I'll remember."
Diane Frolov and Andrew Schneider, Northern Exposure, Do The Right Thing, 1992


Over the last 6 months, I've attended a “music night” at my local pub in the hills. This is an opportunity for musicians' without a gig or a platform to play their “stuff” for a live audience. These nights are good fun because it's a chance to meet musicians' of all types from metal, blues, folk, pop and moderate rock and roll. The experience can also be a bit intimidating because sometimes the talent moves far beyond “amature”, bordering on pure genius. What is so good about this night, despite ones skill or talent, no-one is judged and all receive the same pay – a free drink. It was on one such night that I met Heath...a guitarist of natural talent, his instrument a 'third arm', so to to speak, who also possessed the humility of a Trappist Monk.

Heath played for the House band, Fats Wa Wa, a blues/rock group with an incredible sound.

I remember one such “music night”, after I played a set of my own, that Heath put his hand gently on my shoulder and whispered, “That sounded good, mate.” To say the least this was a compliment of the highest order considering Heath's level of skill and talent.

It has been a month since attending “music night” in the Hills due to moving back down to the suburbs. I had lost touch with most of these people, so with guitar strapped to my back, headed up there to catch up and possibly belt out a few tunes.

When I walked into the pub, something had changed, that joy the pub is famous for wasn't there; it was then I was told that only two weeks prior, Heath, after playing and celebrating the opening of the pub's new restaurant cafe, while walking home was hit by a car and died at the age of 27. Heath is also the father of a six year old child.

The town went into shock and over a thousand people attended Heath's funeral.

I was not contacted, as most all were in shock, and calling me was the last thing on their minds.

When a whole town grieves it is almost palpable.

That night three bands played. No one mentioned a thing. The feeling was “life goes on” and let's play our best. Of course everyone was so glad to see my sister and I that, in retrospect, felt like a type of 'home coming'. We are part of the family and was welcomed back with open arms. (Don't remember so many hugs in one night.)

To say the least, I've been a bit lost, reflecting, looking back at Heath's talent and natural skill as a guitarist, but most of all his humility. He had nothing to prove because the music said it all.

To state the obvious, life and death are mysterious; and it is in the quote above that my and the town's reflections have concluded.

We will miss Heath greatly.