MISC. BY GEMMA

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I write this with many reservations as I admit openly: I believe in spirits, and especially their immense power of reaching out to the living during this time of year. It’s a time where the veil between us and the afterlife thins, allowing those we still hold close in our minds to reach out and speak.

Svante “Swan” Mossberg was my boss at a small local camera store in Seattle. Our relationship from coworkers grew into something akin to a relationship between father and daughter. He saw the best - and worst - in me, and loved me unconditionally. We always found ways to reconnect when I was home, and my most favorite moments with him were spent at a small diner called Voula’s, where we’d both gab and suck down gallons of coffee and fight over the check (which he usually always paid for at the end of the financial dance). 

On the evening when Fall came, I had a dream about my dear Swan. There he was: waiting for me to meet him at some unnamed pier, hoping I’d join him for breakfast. I spent the entire time trying my best to make it to him. But small menial things would stand in my way. Tasks that meant nothing to me, but kept me from seeing him. The second I’d finished I would immediately be faced with something. But there Swan sat, smiling patiently at me, without a care in the world.

I eventually lost sight of him, and felt a deep sadness wash over me. Suddenly my phone rang; it was Swan. We spoke over the phone about something that made no sense (the topic: alien intelligence in the Catholic Church, and how recent kidnapping of babies were a direct correlation). But there he was, speaking to me, clear as day. I could hear the warmth in his voice and could feel a sense of calm overcome me.

I woke up an absolute mess. One part of me wanted to fall back asleep just to hear his voice again one last time. I could never summon the words to really describe just how much his absence really tore my heart apart, but that would also erase how beautiful his time was here with not just me, but with everyone he knew and loved. Pining for a glimpse of his image, I combed through whatever existing pages were left on his social media, but all his accounts had been removed by family. Hours of searching, I came across an entry from his nephew: “He had just decided what he wanted to do with his retirement, buy an Airstream and explore the wilds of the Pacific Northwest. His death seems unfair, not to me but to him.” 

Swan was never quite sure of what he wanted after retirement. But instead of lamenting in a life that seemed to end prematurely, I decided to take a part of him up to one of my favorite places in the city: The Manhattan Bridge. This bridge has been a part of my road work in preparation for upcoming matches, and by far the most appropriate place to honor the memory of a man who wanted to see the world. It’s definitely not in line with the wilderness only the cascades to offer, but as cliche as it comes - the best view of the concrete jungle would do.

I placed a photo of Swan at the middle of the bridge in hopes he could share this part of the world with me. Sadly someone tore his photo down, leaving only its zip tie remains. But a part of my imagination likes to entertain that he became actualized in the realm of the living and had one last smoke and smile from the tranquil alcove of the Manhattan Bridge, and taking along that photograph with him.

Thank you, Swan. For everything you’ve done. You supplied me with the comfort and encouragement needed before I could do it on my own. Teaching me that a life spent on pursuing anything you love, and remaining still in awe of what you’ve left to still learn, is nothing short of a miracle. To always operate on a foundation built by kindness, but maintain my boundaries. I wish we could still share time together throughout the passing days as Halloween draws near. One more spat at the cash register. Another moment spent dusting cigarette ashes off your jackets. But I’ll keep my visions of you with absolute content, and hoping your ghost passes through one more time.

I love you, Swan. And for anyone that is feeling the same as I do about their own loved ones that have passed: remain free of your entanglement with the conflict that they are “gone”, and if you feel a sign of their presence, indulge and drink in it.

Images from an emergency demonstration outside of Terminal 4 at John F. Kennedy International Airport in the wake of President Trump’s Immigration Ban.

Photos for Toby Driver’s upcoming solo album “Madonnawhore”. Check out more information for his new release with The Flenser: