Dane Anson Joel Katipa 30/01/1983 - 04/08/2006

My brother Dane took his own life. He hung himself in my parents garage.

I could've started by writing a beautiful piece about what a cute bonny baby he was.

I could've shared a few funny stories about him like when he would wear nothing but shorts all year and his gumboots because "I'm a man".

I could've told a few stories about when he was a teenager and up to all sorts of no good (and I'm sure I only know a tenth of it!).

I could've shared how close we were growing up and the adventures we had in the backyard building roads in the dirt.

I could've shared embarrassing stories like how we would have competitions in the bath to see who could fill the empty shampoo bottle up the most with pee before we tipped it out the window (actually I won't share that, it's my embarrassing story too!)

I could've shared how his only nephew at the time loved him to pieces and although he'd occasionally grumble he'd never deny the pleads for a ride on the motorbike.

However the truth is no matter what story I could tell it will always end the same. And sadly it's as simple and as blunt as my first line.

My brother Dane took his own life. He hung himself in my parents garage.

And so begins my project. To honor him. To heal myself.