I am so sad and devastated and mourning the loss of a boy who would be my family if things were different.
Three years later just means it’s the fourth year in a row that I’ve cried until my heart couldn’t take it anymore.
So selfish to love a boy who never knew I existed.
Love you, Puppy. So much.
Here are some really great dads who mean a lot to me.
Thank you.
Despite best efforts, intentions, wishes, or hopes I never took much to religion. If I sit in a church and listen to a sermon it is like sitting through a sometimes exciting and action packed, sometimes serene and touching, other times infuriating and ridiculously walkoutable feature length film. I live in parallel to religion and spirituality, but I cannot walk with it.
It’s hard for me to accept that one being, or even multiple deities, are in charge or responsible or powerful enough to create all that is around me. And I definitely am not built to accept that my decisions in life are not my own, that the plan I make for my life is part of The Plan, His Plan, Her Plan, Their Plan. It’s mine to take ownership of, mine to fail at or succeed at, mine to be accountable for one hundred percent. Mine to be proud of, no matter how many mistakes I made along the way.
But I know in my heart that angels walk among us. And they help enrich our lives by their very presence. And they teach us to be better versions of our own selves, help us to realize and develop our own hidden talents and attributes and idiosyncrasies. And when they have completed their journey they leave, moving on to their next journey. And it is our job to remember their time in our lives, to remember what gifts they gave us, to pass on that memory to others so that those angels, their lessons, and their very purpose, are never forgotten.
Lisa once told me that her favorite Beasties song is Brass Monkey. Of course she really enjoyed The Stones a bit more overall, but she loved dancing to the crazy cacaphony of that funky monkey.
The song shuffled onto my Touch this morning as I apropos-priately rode the F train this morning.
F is for Fook, ya know.
And now you know what song will be on repeat in my head tomorrow, the day we memorialize virtually and in the flesh our favorite rocker bitch.
This is how I remember you.
