Joshua Andrew Parry

One of my earliest memories of Joshua is of us at Durning Hall for some sort of toddler mother-and-child play session. Everyone is seated in a circle because a man has brought in animals for us to look at- a spider, an owl. With everyone distracted, we suddenly notice that Joshua is missing, and as we turn, we realise he has left the circle and is up on the stage behind us, hand in the biscuit tin. An animal show seems rather fantastical for a small playgroup in Forest Gate, so maybe we were sitting in a circle for another reason. I’m not sure how much of that memory is actually what happened, but Joshua sneaking biscuits, being cheeky enough to go and get what he wanted, and cute enough to get away with it, seems about right.

From picking conkers in West Ham Park and Wanstead Flats, and collecting frogs from Magpie Park in Chinese takeaway containers (mum wasn’t pleased about that), for kids who grew up to be pretty introverted adults, we did like to explore. One of our favourite trips as children was going to McDonald’s or the Golden Lion Café with our grandad Terry, followed by window-shopping in Woolworths, and if we were lucky, we’d get Pokémon cards. Joshua had a boldness about him; he wasn’t afraid to ask for what he wanted, something I am still envious of, and Terry loved spoiling us.

As a kid, he seemed effortlessly funny and confident, easily making friends at after-school clubs and with the kids down the street in a way that I, as a chronic overthinker, took much longer to do. Whether it was rollerblading, biking, or gaming, he was a typical boy. One of my favourite memories is of the time when, having no pocket money, Josh declared we should sell things we didn’t want. Josh called on kids from down our road, some of whom were slightly older than us, which made his plan seem even cooler. We gathered our possessions, including old videotapes and toys, and went door-to-door. By the end of it, we had sold almost everything, bought toys from each other, and were completely delighted with ourselves. Josh’s entrepreneurial nature was evident from an early age.

His love of gaming was also apparent early on. We were lucky enough to have a Nintendo 64, followed years later by a PS2. We spent countless hours playing Banjo-Kazooie, Ratchet & Clank, Need for Speed, and Grand Theft Auto as kids- I don’t think mum was quite aware of the content in that game. Looking back, I can now admit that he was a much better gamer than me. Like most 90s kids, we collected Pokémon and Yu-Gi-Oh cards, slime aliens, and Tamagotchis. He was not above nicking collectibles, although he would usually try to cut a deal with you first.

Another strong memory from our childhood is of him telling me that mum had said we could watch Hellraiser, a film that I later realised he had simply snuck from her cupboard and, I suspect, didn’t want to watch alone. I think we were both terrified by it, although neither of us would admit it. He did, however, manage to get me to scream when he turned the lights off while I was in the toilet afterwards- hilarious.

Our family has a mean sense of humour. From his big head to my big teeth, our ability to wind each other up never faded. Like a lot of siblings, we fought a lot and made up a lot, and then fought again. Always with the unspoken understanding that, even though we drove each other mad, we loved each other. Like many of my siblings, we share a stubbornness- always thinking that we are right and more than happy to engage in a lengthy debate or wager to prove it.

We had moments of great joy and love in our childhood, but also moments of stress, sadness and complicated dynamics. As we got older, our parents, who are living life for the first time too, struggled in their own ways. I hope they will not find it too difficult for me to say that. At times, it felt like a weight or a puzzle that we couldn’t quite understand. In our teenage years, I withdrew into myself, escaping into fantasy books, but for Joshua, his escape was RuneScape. He spent hour after hour doing quests, PvP fights, trading in-game items and accounts. Miles and I played too, although not nearly quite as obsessively, and while getting computer time was always a competition, Josh was patient and helped me learn the game, teaching me what to do and helping me with quests whenever I got stuck.

After school, I don’t think Josh knew what he wanted to do. He dabbled here and there with different possibilities but without much drive. When Josh joined the army, he told me it would be a chance for everyone to be proud of him. He was awarded Most Improved Cadet at his passing-out parade and was the second-best shot. He was meticulous, with his beret perfectly moulded and completely lint-free. It seemed like the start of something.

When he managed to be discharged early from the army- a feat in itself- he was immediately concerned about what our grandad might think, having been so proud of him for joining. He only spoke to me briefly about the racist bullying he had reported in the army, and once again, he seemed unmoored, adrift among different possibilities but, from the outside, without a clear sense of direction.

Although he became unwell shortly after his time in the army, with what would eventually become a diagnosis of schizophrenia, he did meet the love of his life during that time: Shan, who quickly became a member of our family and loved him through both the good and the bad. I know that their support of one another, despite difficult odds, brought him great comfort during darker times.

I visited him in hospital the week before he passed away. We ate Krispy Kreme doughnuts and laughed about how old we were looking now. We spoke about our other siblings and how well they were all doing. We talked about his plans for the future and the inventions he wanted to build- one to help heal people’s moods with energy, and another to help people understand or read each other’s emotions, so they could be more empathetic and understand one another without having to say a word.

We also spoke about the painful side effects of the medication he was on, the bleeding it caused, his frustrations with the doctors and nurses for what he felt was their lack of understanding and roughness, and his fears that this time they wouldn’t let him out for a long time.

Since you left us, I’ve been looking through an art book that you ordered to read when you got out. I can see why you liked it. Paulina Peavy’s work is full of geometric shapes that remind me of your tattoos, and they believed in extraterrestrials and reincarnation like you too. My hope is that, in your final actions, you felt autonomy and peace. And while I have never been spiritual, I hope with all my heart that you get another shot around the sun- this time with an easier, kinder life.

Your big sister,

Millie x

Death is not the end
but the beginning
of a metamorphosis.
For matter is never destroyed,
only transformed
and rearranged –
often more perfectly.
Witness how in the moment of the caterpillar’s death
the beauty of the butterfly is born
and released from the prison of the cocoon
it flies free.
(Peter Tatchell)