I decided this weekend I was going to write something funny. (I am, you know. I mean, I can be). But it’s raining, and it’s been raining for two days straight. Who can be funny when it’s raining?
I contemplated putting this off and being funny tomorrow. Forecast for tomorrow: rain, all day.
So funny. Okay, well, I made an honest attempt to ride my bike while holding an umbrella. That might have made someone laugh. I didn’t, though. Because it’s cold, and my rain jacket and favorite boots are at the bottom of god knows what box.
So I arrived at the coffee shop later than I wanted to, wet, cold…and not funny.
I’m sure there is some eye-rolling going on. It rains here like 2 days a year. Most people are almost giddy, relishing in the anomaly and blatant reminder that fall is upon us. And all I can do is think of the last time I was cold and wet.
It was January. I was in Texas, completely alone and utterly heartbroken. And it almost took me under.
I had fallen for someone who changed his mind, risked everything and lost so much more. So there I was, packing up all of my things, yet again, trying to figure out where to go. Did it even matter? There was no home to go back to and no one waiting for me to come home…except Biscuit.
But it’s not January anymore, Brooke. It’s September, 9 months later. And it’s fall. You love fall. It’s your favorite. People associate it with death and decay, but for me, it’s pumpkins. It’s crisp mornings, chunky sweaters and my favorite boots. It’s Halloween decorations and the crunch of leaves under my favorite boots. It’s snuggled up next to a warm fire with the person I love. And it’s Biscuit, sitting on top of a big pile of leaves, his red-orange fur blending in with the autumn colors all around him.
But my chunky sweaters and favorite boots are still in boxes that I admittedly haven’t had the stomach to unpack one more fucking time. And I got rid of most of my decorations because, to be honest, when you’re packing up all of your shit for the 7th time, they seem like the perfect thing to not have to carry up another flight of stairs or cram into a 400-hundred-something square foot space. And the warm fire, well it’s in the house I used to live in with my amazing husband, who is no longer my husband. And Biscuit, well, he’s dead.
So I guess this year, fall is about death because most of the things I loved last fall don’t exist anymore.
This isn’t funny, is it? Like not at all.
Okay, let’s shelf death and heartache for a second. I wanted to make you laugh, not cry (which I will say is one positive of this weather; from afar, it’s hard to distinguish tears from raindrops.)
It is kinda funny- tears, raindrops…they are all water, the very thing that dictates whether life exists or not, that has the power to extinguish it in a matter of seconds. It can wipe out entire villages, kill tens of thousands of people, and take us under with a force that makes us forget that breath was ever an option.
But it can also bring us instant renewal: a cold sip of water on a hot day, or a hot bath on a cold night, watching it dance across the rocks or letting it lull us to sleep as it kisses the sand.
The ultimate paradox; we need it to live, but it’s responsible for so much death. It can bring us sheer joy or cause excruciating pain. It can’t always be seen, but it’s always present. And it never dissipates. It changes- adapts to its circumstances- but it never diminishes. It is everywhere, all around us, but so many die because they can’t get enough of it.
As it turns out, it is disturbingly similar to the very thing that always seems to end with tears, at least for me. Love.
Which brings me right back to fall. A love, a dream, and a precious puppy all synced up with the season, their decomposition swift, until all that was left was a mound of dirt covering a hole I so desperately wanted to crawl into.
So here I am, staring at this puppy next to me who is snuggled up under his person’s feet, looking down at my feet, wishing I had my favorite pair of boots on because mine are wet and my toes are cold. And I’m right back to the last time I was cold and wet. And I think of Texas and my puppy sitting in the leaves, and…
It’s funny, isn’t it, how it’s all cyclical: water, seasons, water, love…
Love, just like water, is as essential as breath. And it’s absence can feel like a cruel, isidious death.
But, just like water, love doesn’t just disappear. It might change in intensity and form, but it doesn’t just stop. For better or worse, all the love I felt- for Eric, for Biscuit, even for him, it’s still there, filling me up completely…so desparate for an escape, it leaves me gasping for air.
I know, I missed my target with this one. I’ll try again next week: forecast: Sunny and warm all week.
——
An Addendum of sorts: Please take a minute to read Brandewijn Words latest post, Perspective. I’m beyond honored to be a part of it and think his perspective is beautiful and kind and so very needed. It just gets so easy to slip into judgment mode, to drift towards entitlement and self-righteousness contingent on our vantage point.
He ends with this, and it absolutely humbles me, but is also was a beautiful reminder. We truly are all in this together.
I make this promise to Brooke and to all of you. I will dig…deep…into her honest “telling of events” to find her and try to understand her world of this or thats. Because that is her world and her perspective… And those are the only ones that matters and the only ones I need to know.
That sums it up, right? Not his promise to me, but his commitment to question his vantage point, to do his best to know someone’s story and check himself when he makes an assumption or judgment. Ultimately, it’s to come from a place of empathy. Because we each have our story, right, with so many layers. It gets complicated and messy, and we fuck up and do things that we regret. We hurt people, we hurt ourselves. intentionally or unintentionally. But the beautiful thing is, we get the gift of being able to step back and check ourselves, to shift our perspective and do what we can to understand why someone says or behaves the way they do…to practice empathy.
Desert Curmudgeon also eloquently sums this up in Yippie! We’re all Gonna Die:
“Those of us who care do so because we can’t but feel otherwise if we are being honest with ourselves. There is no escape from the vulnerability of interdependence. I breathe because you do.”
Thank you so very much for this wide open post. You didn’t just touch me with this, you reached out and grabbed hold of me by the collar and held me in front of you. There are so many things I want to ask and say, but t’is not the place. Open to hearing from you if you ever wish to contact.
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You are amazing. Thank you. I know, my blog is a telling of events that unfolds in a bit of a circuitous manner, so questions are valid. Most of the answers are in there on some level, the whole disaster that has been the last year, it just takes some work to piece it all together. It’s not happy, though, ‘wide open’ is how I do things, to a fault sometimes apparently. There are nuggets of funny here and there, but you definitely have to sift. But I know your point was to say you are here and give a shit, and that means the everything. All to say, silver lining is I started writing, and I landed here, and I found you and these amazing, beautiful, talented people that bring so much love and joy into days like this one. So, worth it, despite the painful path to get here. That you for taking the time to read this and reach out. You made my grey morning so much brighter.
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I am about to publish something that will be my reply to this comment. One can’t change the color of the morning, but sharing it with you helped me as well.
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Well, I look forward to you pushing ‘publish’! 🙂
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done…
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Damn you Brooke! Why do you have to be beautiful all the time? I did laugh out loud at the beginning and then you had to go and take me on a “journey” lol
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I know, it started out so promising. But at least you got a taste of where we are headed. Different path next time…although clearly I can’t make any promises. Huge hug to you, girl. And, you can only see me as beautiful cause you are!
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Rawwww, so sweet and lovely you are. You do all your writing in a spooky rose garden filled with fog and mist, don’t you?
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oh dear, that is what it seems like, huh? I guess somewhat accurate. It comes from my head, which is a bit scary and most definitely foggy…and misty feels pretty much constant. But the roses are still there, nonetheless, and they are sweet and lovely. So there’s that. 🙂
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Ah, your writing is gorgeous. No target missed here.
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Oh shit, I almost missed this lil’ gem. Thank you, beautiful girl! You probably needed that fucking tea towel for this one…but not THAT tea towel!!! 🙂
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Never THAT tea towel, haha!
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wow, brooke, so gorgeous! thanks for this.
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Wow. Butterflies. I just got ‘gorgeous’ from my brilliant writing teacher. Huge hug to you, Miss Lisa. We need to make a date! I’m at the Goat daily, too, if you want a writing partner! 🙂
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Well that just gave me butterflies…’gorgeous’ from my brilliant writing teacher. Doesn’t get much better. Miss you, Miss Lisa.
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beautiful writing Brooke, thank you for putting it into the world
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Thank you so much, Sue. Means the world that you read and take the time to send love…
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I hope that you take a moment to re-read this post. And when you do, I hope you see the strength that I do. You are an inspiration, Brooke. Even in the darkest moments, you shine.
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Thanks, T. It certainly doesn’t feel that way. But, like I said, the ones I want to delete are the ones people seem to need to hear, or at least want to. Thanks for encouraging me to push ‘publish’. Your turn. 🙂
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I believe you said it in your post about Martin Luther King:
“But for most people, the biggest gift you can give them is to let them give back to you.”
Thank you for the biggest gift!!! ❤
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I want to give you what I only recently acquired. I literally want to extract it from my mind and give it to you. It is a way of looking at death and loss that makes one realize not only are these things inevitable, but they are already existent in the very moment you first meet someone, adopt a pet, fall in love, etc. Beginnings imply endings. Life and death are inseparable. But I can’t give it to you in a comment. I can’t even give it to you in spoken words. This year, I lost my beautiful dog Bernadette, my cat Carl, and I saw my 86 year old mother declining to a point of near immobility. I dated no one and spent much time alone. But I am okay. I am better than okay. I am ready to love again with a vigor I’ve never had. History tells me I’ll probably squander this unlikely state of openness in continued solitude. Therefore, if it were at all possible, I would give it to you, Brooke, to do with as you will. May all the magic potential of the season find you.
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Jesus, Paul. (can I call you that?!!) You somehow always have the very words that go straight through me, in the sense that I stop breathing for a second and my heart feels like it is going to implode. I can literally feel the sincerity and just fucking love, and it melts me. I wish you could give it to me, too. Of course I know it intrinsically. I’ve experienced death and loss before I even understand what they meant. That aside, fuck, there was just so much of it at once. And I clearly feel emotions as if they make up every single molecule in every single cell of my body (I guess they kinda do). But it was just too much, P. Saving grace is that I am relentless, and I refuse to resign myself to cynicism. I just won’t. I will keep loving like I always have, and it will be with the vigor you speak of and the passion that seems to take the reigns when I find something or someone I love.
On a side note, although beginnings of course imply endings, I don’t believe history thus implies future. In fact, I know it doesn’t. Unless that is what we choose. So it appears no love shall be squandered, because I know you know that. I mean, that’s what magic is, right?
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Your words profoundly touch my heart, too, Brooke. And of course you can call me Paul. That’s my name and you’re my friend. You are a true inspiration to me.
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That’s all I need to hear. Paul, it is then, cause so not convinced you are a curmudgeon. (Although, it is a fantastic word). You, love, are more than an inspiration to me…as previously stated…unassuming prophet is a better description. 🙂 Have a beautiful day, Paul.
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Well, it rains for four complete months where I stay. So I guess I can be funny even when its pouring. Or so I think😉
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God bless you! I suppose when you are immersed in it for that long, it becomes the norm and you adapt. This was the case for me when I lived in Paris. It was soggy all the time, and I was still funny…but it WAS Paris. Thanks for taking the time to read and I think you are funny, too. 🙂
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I want a book of a thousand pages, filled with your writing. I look up to you and how easy you make it seem. I loved this. It encompassed almost all of my current feelings about fall.
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Wow, that is such a beautiful compliment! Thank you so much. It’s not easy, girl. It physically hurts sometimes….but it hurts worse if I don’t. I love your writing, too!. This line got me from ‘Turning the Calendar’ “Personally, I find myself looking out at the trees in the morning, coffee mug in hand, to note the leaves are strutting a newly acquired shade of yellow. With time, they will release their hold and fall to the ground helplessly, sort of how I aimed to fall in love this Summer”. That’s poetry, girl…now just give me 9, 970ish more. 🙂
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My mind is like a popcorn machine, tons of ideas everywhere, it’s getting the right ones into the same bag that is the trick for me. I’ll keep at it and enjoy reading your works of art along the way. It means a great deal that you make the time to comment…thank you, you are a beautiful soul.
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Ohhh, I so feel the same about you. And seriously, my mind is like a popcorn machine!! You are fucking brilliant. Keep writing, no matter how scattered they feel..they have a way of landing exactly where they should…and you just made crave popcorn!! 🙂 Big hug!
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Oh my god. How did I miss this?!!! Shit, BW! (what do I call you, btw?). Well, this is DEFINITELY a first. The only other poem that I was written for/about me to my knowledge was about 20 years ago. I don’t have words right now…like none. Going to reread…and probably print it out and frame it. 🙂
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Hey lady!
Facing reality is no fun! Sure, you have to pretend and adult during your day job, but the rest of the time you are free to believe in magic!
Can people really pull bunnies out of top hats or money from the sky? Hell no! Watching your child take their first step or say I love you for the first time …. I dare someone to tell me magic is not real then! :)!
Magic comes in all shapes and sizes, one just had to be open to the moment :)!
Loving your posts BTW! Thank you for sharing with the world!
If you have a minute stop over to MummaBug.wordpress.com 🙂 … we love new friends!
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This is beautiful; this post, your blog, your journey and the profound ways you write about it. You aren’t simply writing about life, but delving into all of it’s spaces; the flourishing, the unkempt and the secret . Your story and your words inspire my heart and my creative spirit. Thank you!
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Yours were the first words I read this morning and it melted me. To know that my journey and writing inspired you, someone whose writing I think is so unbelievably honest, accessible, heartfelt and eloquent, makes me just want to keep writing. I just delved into your blog. God, where to start. You blow me away on so many levels. Your fucking courage, first and foremost, and your strength and self-awareness..it’s a rare and beautiful thing. On a side note, on certain days, those first two words make me cringe, because my god I feel anything but. But friends and all of you continue to pound it in my head, and I’m finally starting to own them….on some days. I hope you do, I truly do, because you are amazing…it comes through in your words. That is your gift. Thank you for sharing it with all of us.
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A wonderful post Brooke. Thank for for being so honest. I love rain and fall to, but when I’m down, it can all be too overwhelming.
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