I am finally reading the book Deep Beyond the Reef by my friend Owen Scott. It was released in Fiji when I was still there, over half a year ago, but sold off the shelfs before I had a chance. Eventually Amazon caught up with the USP bookstore, and I came home last night to find his book had arrived.

I have to admit, it felt a little luxurious to be able to wallow for that moment before opening the package, as reminders of my sister's death are increasingly rare, and I relish them. Those unexpected time-stoppers are the closest thing to a living Alyssa I've got, and even if they are hollow at least they are reminders.

No, Owen's book is not about my sister's death, but I am self-absorbed so that is what it means to me. Owen Scott's book is about the murder of his brother John Scott and partner Greg Scrivener in Fiji in 2001. I met Owen while he was writing this book in Fiji, while I was reacting to the death of my own sibling, Alyssa Robbins, and I read the first section of his book - the personal account - during that period.

I remember one of the first times I met him (before I realised that he was that Owen Scott) I made some incredibly vulgar and offensive "sibling-death" joke because I felt I had a corner on that market. I remember being surprised at the shocked faces at the table with me after my comment, and I remember thinking, "Fuck you all. Its sister who's dead, so if I want to make light of it that's my priority."

It wasn't until a few hours later that I realised "holy shit that was Owen Scott whose brother was hacked to death in Fiji!"

Oops.

The next time I saw Owen at a party at my home - that was a great home for parties with that big balcony, broad wood floors, and candles everywhere - he smiled in his charismatic Owen way and said simply, "so, I hear we have something in common..." I guess the friendship started there, though really I think Grace had more to do with it.

My and Owen's sisbling's experiences deaths were very different. Alyssa had a seizure in a hospital on New Years Day while on dialysis for her kidney failure. John was murdered with a machete by someone he knew. But the way Owen describes his initial response to finding out is chillingly exact. There is no wave of tearful sobbing, no wailing and gnashing, just the frozen still static of an electrical fire within, and then, once time restarts, a disembodiment from myself and my surroundings, like trying to touch things and move things and say things from far, far away.

Perhaps it is because unthinking technology manages our social links, but "the insolence of technology" features pointedly in both our experiences.

"Then, deliberately, I erased both John's and Greg's mobile numbers from the phone - thinking, 'No! Don't! You're just imagining this!' as if by erasing their numbers I was killing them twice, murdering their memory, even ensuring they were dead even if they really weren't. There was a terrible symbolic permanence to it. 'Erase this number?' the phone asked. as if to say, 'Are you sure?' The insolence of technology"

It was iTunes and spamfor me; I couldn't bring myself to erase her contact info.

And like recent Simpsons, I'll leave it at that for now.