Remembering Braithen Thomas Stewart Robertson and All We Loved

All Hallows’ Eve

Tonight, I Remember Braithen

Honoring a beloved life among the great cloud of witnesses

He was tender-hearted, sharp-minded, and passionately alive—an empath with style, a traveler who loved a good bargain, a friend who made people feel seen. We had long talks in his car, meals at his mother’s table, and dreams big enough to cross oceans. He often said, “Water finds its own level,” nudging me toward the best in life. He lived with Asperger’s, and he loved with a courage that still teaches me how to be present. His dates—15 July 1983 to 04 February 2011—mark time, but they cannot contain his legacy. That lives on in the people he touched, including me. He was neurodiverse and a member of the LGBTQ+ community on the Gold Coast.

On All Hallows’ Eve, we remember the cloud of witnesses. In many traditions, names are read aloud—saints from the calendar and saints from our kitchen tables. This isn’t nostalgia; it’s testimony. We do not glorify death; we honor life. We pause for the faces that shaped us, the hands that steadied us, the voices—like Braithen’s—that taught us how to hope.

There’s a gentle defiance in Halloween’s playfulness. Laughter among skulls and shadows isn’t denial; it’s a protest against fear. It reminds us that death doesn’t get the last word. For Christians, the cross and empty tomb are blazing signposts: love outlives the grave. In that light, tonight becomes a rehearsal for courage—a permission slip to face the dark with joy, to remember, and to keep loving.

All Hallows isn’t really about zombies—it’s about the living dead in the truest sense: those who live in the power of resurrection, rising into mercy, gratitude, and stubborn hope. When we bring out photographs, tell stories, and say names, we practice resurrection. We remember that love carries us—through loss, through doubt, into a life that still gleams with meaning.

A prayer for this night:
O Lord, grant eternal rest to Braithen and our friends that have passed, and let the light of Your love shine on them forever. May they rest in peace, and may their souls find comfort in Your embrace. Amen.

To call this night hallowed is to call life holy. Embrace those you love. Count blessings that outnumber fears. Remember that people rise—from despair to purpose, from bitterness to forgiveness, from apathy to love. And, for those who believe, from death to life.

To Braithen—my kindred spirit: your tenderness, wit, and courage continue to steady me. “Water finds its own level.” I’m still rising to meet you there.

In blessed memory • All Hallows’ Eve • requiescat in pace