Article: When Life Changes the Map

There’s a strange moment in grief where time stops making sense.

It hasn’t quite been three months since Tay passed.

Some days feel like years.

Other days still feel like I’m waiting for him to walk back through the door.

Life is surreal in a way I never could have imagined.

I still cry most days. Sometimes it’s a quiet ache.

Sometimes it hits like a wave with no warning.

Grief isn’t something you move through in a straight line.

It loops, it circles, it sits beside you when you least expect it.

The farm has become one of the hardest parts of this new reality. What was once our shared dream now feels overwhelming. For 11 years, we built something together — the horses, the land, the vision of a future that felt steady and grounded. It was never just about animals or property.

It was about creating a life. A place that held us, and a place that held the people around us.

But dreams sometimes change without permission.

And some dreams can’t be carried alone.

The process of letting go, of dispersing the horses, of closing a chapter that meant so much to both of us… it’s been heart-breaking. There’s no way to make it easier. There’s no way to do it without feeling like a part of you is ending too.

But there’s another truth that has become clearer every day.

Tay believed in the music.

Not just mine — everyone’s.

He believed in what BTN was trying to build long before it had structure or direction. He saw the bigger picture when I couldn’t. He supported it in ways that went far beyond encouragement. He gave time, energy, ideas, and a kind of quiet faith that kept me moving forward even when I doubted myself.

And before he passed, he told me something that stays with me now more than ever.

He wanted me to give BTN everything.

To see where it could take me.

To see who it could help.

To see what stories could be shared.

To try and make it to the 2026 ARIA Awards.

He was my biggest cheerleader.

I know for a fact that every event, every festival, every venue that has said yes to BTN this year would have had him dancing somewhere in the background, completely ecstatic.

He would have been the first one packing the bags, planning the travel, reminding me to believe that this was real and that it mattered.

Life changes.

And sometimes the future you thought you were building disappears overnight.

But that doesn’t mean the journey ends.

It just means the map changes.

As this year moves forward, BTN is becoming my main focus. At least one live event every month. Photography. Reviews. Interviews. Supporting independent artists. Telling the stories that often go unheard. Creating a space where musicians feel seen, valued, and encouraged to keep going.

And you’ll keep hearing new Uncle Tatt songs too. Because creating is part of surviving.

Because that’s what he believed in.

And because music has a way of carrying us when nothing else can.

So you’ll see me out there.

At gigs. At festivals. Somewhere in Australia (for now).

Camera in hand. Heart still healing.

If you see me, come say hello.

If you’re an artist, keep sharing your music.

If you’re a listener, keep supporting the people who create the soundtracks to our lives.

We never really move on.

But we do move forward.

And sometimes, that’s enough.

By Uncle Tatt — host of “Between the Notes,”  

Where life changes, dreams evolve, and music helps us find the way forward.