Kurt Cobain’s unofficial memorial is a surprisingly peaceful place. The hour long pilgrimage of my morning saw city bustle and high-rise exchanged for families and their cosy homes.
Unlike the day before, the sun was shining bright and warm on on this small patch of grassy hill in the middle of typical suburbia. As I look out to a beautiful view of the water, birds chirp their appreciation for the day. The only other sounds are of the occasional car and passers-by.
There are only two park benches in this tiny space, and it’s obvious right away which is more important. A tree stands tall and strong behind it, the last home of Kurt Cobain (and yes, the place in which he ended his life) is visible off to the right but mostly obscured by a wall of tree and bush. On it are offerings: picks, coins from around the world, flowers and words.
“I hope you found Nirvana Kurt”
“Today I found my friends”
“One more special message to go. Now you’re done, and you can go home”
“Come as a friend”
“Come as you are, Kurt”
My own contribution? Your scent is still in my place of recovery. Because it is. Because his music shaped me. It made me write, it made me form a high school rock band, it showed me how to turn pain into beauty. My teenage angst might be gone but listening to these songs in good times or bad will always leave a smile on my soul.
I sit on the other bench. An overflow of respects have started to be written here too. An ache in my heart that began earlier in the morning has intensified now, thinking of the tragedy that too many people could be in so much turmoil, even amidst the beauty. Despite this however I was surprisingly calm, especially given I had been waiting 13 years to have this moment.
I have finally come.
I have come with dirty hair and no makeup.
I have come with the memories of intense self-loathing.
I have come with only love in my present.
I have come exactly as I am.