Dedication to Alexander Tempest H.
My only child.
Died October 2025 26 years old
There are people who move through the world as if the usual limits don’t quite apply to them. Alexander was one of those rare ones — a mind that could build anything, fix anything, imagine anything, and then sit down and actually make it real. Resin miniatures, cosplay armour, whole worlds built from cards and lore and late‑night laughter.
He loved Magic: The Gathering, not just for the game but for the stories inside it — the strategy, the art, the sense that anything was possible if you played your cards right. He loved PAX, the noise and colour and community of it, the way people showed up as their truest selves. He loved cosplay, the craft of it, the transformation. Alex enjoyed gaming, Fortnite, Cult of the Lamb, and too many RPG to name. Ever since he was 2 years old, he loved lego. We shared the love, building together, collecting lego, attending Brickvention and buying lego for our hobby bricklink store that he started.
He didn’t just have interests; he had realms.
He loved wallabies, those small, gentle creatures that always made him smile. He was a wildlife rescuer and cared for them too. He became a Vegetarian, based on not wanting to have harm done to any animal.
And he loved the quiet satisfaction of printing and painting resin miniatures, turning raw material into something with character and weight.
He was capable of anything. Not in the empty way people sometimes say that, but in the real way — the way where you could hand him a problem, a broken thing, a half‑formed idea, and he would simply figure it out. He had that kind of mind. That kind of heart.
The world is smaller without him. But the things he made, the joy he carried, the people he loved — those remain. They hold their shape.
They speak his name in their own quiet ways.
This dedication is for him —for Alexander Tempest H. For the worlds he built, for the life he lived, for the love that does not end.
My beloved only child.
Miss you. Take care.
I love you heaps. And am so very proud of you. Always have been.
Meet you on a Side Quest, oneday. I know you will be the MVP.
Dedication — For the Mothers Who Carry the Uncarryable
This space is dedicated to you — the mothers who walk through the world with a quiet, invisible weight that few can name and even fewer can understand. To the mothers whose arms ache with memory. To the mothers whose homes echo differently now. To the mothers who lost their only child, and with them, the imagined futures, the unspoken conversations, the small ordinary moments that once stitched the days together.
This is for you.
For the way you rise each morning even when the world feels tilted. For the way you keep breathing in a life that no longer fits the shape it once had. For the way you carry love that has nowhere to land except inside your own chest.
This is for the strength you never asked for. For the softness you protect even when the world expects hardness. For the tenderness you still offer others, even while your own heart is held together by threads. This is for the mothers who learned to speak in half‑sentences because the full truth is too heavy for most people to hold.
For the mothers who smile so others don’t flinch. For the mothers who have become experts at stepping outside to cry where no one can see.
This is for the mothers who are still here — not because it’s easy, not because they’ve “moved on”, but because love insists on continuing, even in the absence of the child who taught them its deepest form.
This is for the mothers who light candles, keep photos, whisper names, trace memories with their fingertips. For the mothers who feel their child in the wind, in birdsong, in the quiet moments when the world softens just enough to let them breathe.
This is for the mothers who have rebuilt themselves from the ground up, piece by trembling piece. For the mothers who learned to live with a heart that is both broken and beating. For the mothers who know that grief is not a wound to heal but a landscape to learn.
This is for you — the ones who carry love in its fiercest, purest, most enduring form. May you find gentleness here. May you find recognition. May you find a place where your grief is not too much, your story is not too heavy, and your love is not invisible.
This space, this work, this quiet corner of the world — it is for you.
