WickedWestCoast

Half way into a bottle of wine at 3:30 in the afternoon and I am thinking of many deep, deep topics.

Like the tragedy of countries that celebrate female castration. Racial & gender subordination. The abuse of the ‘Anonymous’ option in teen social media. The abolishment of the Canadian penny. Feline alcoholism.

Feline alcoholism is real. It’s the only explanation for the rapid disappearance of wine in my house. I *can’t* possibly be the one drinking it all.

Another very, very deep thought which has occupied my brain today.

Sundays & holidays in the province of the Peg.

I have spent my adult life out west, way out west. Wickedly west.

Where everything is OPEN. Even on Sundays. And holidays.

But in Manitoba… EVERYTHING is closed. Aside from gas stations & dive restaurants.

Realize you have no fresh garlic on Good Friday? Too bad, so sad.

Suddenly notice your Prozac is finished? Prepare your friends & family to enjoy several days of your increasing insanity.

Wait. That could be funny.

Sort of.

Ran out of wine, WINE!!!? Suck it up buttercup.

That would NOT be funny.

For anyone.

These tragic thoughts have a positive side.

It’s Good Friday. Nothing is open. No malls, offices, museums, clubs or grocery stores.

So I have no choice but to spend it with my nearest & dearest. Listening to music, taking a gazillion lame online quizzes, playing fetch with (the possible wine stealing) cats, catching up on the mintiae details of my children’s lives, dancing in the kitchen to Nickelback while simmering the sauce we’re having for dinner. Which takes six hours to make. Something I don’t usually have time for, but today? Where the hell else would I be?

There will be no much needed car maintenance, no house hunting, no dentist visits or household shopping accomplished on this day off.

And realizing… this everything-is-closed-for-the-holidays-thing… is not such a bad thing.

How are you spending your long weekend?

 

 

 

And if you can finish this song, I just may adore you. Knowing that you recognize The Pogues is damn near enough in my world…

If you’ve seen ‘P.S. I Love You’ you just may have a clue where I’m coming from in this post. And if you know me in real life, you just may know how much of that movie IS my life. Yeah.

I kinda wanna find Cecelia Ahern and maybe hurt her a little. At the very least for spying in my life. Bitch.

But that’s besides the point.

Four months ago, my family lost someone who meant more than words can say.

How do you write about something that still hurts so much?

How do you write about the man whose picture stares at you, smiling, loving the moment captured, when you cook every meal? Because his picture is clipped to my fridge, and I see him every time I stand near my stove.

How do you accept that that smile, that smile, will forever remain in a photo, you will never again see in person?

He was a dear friend, a cousin, a brother, a husband, the uncle my kids needed when their Dad died, the man who stepped up when so damn many walked away. He meant so very much to us and the reason I haven’t written is because of just how much he means to us.

My tears, and that of my children, flow as I try yet again to write, to describe just how much he means to us.

And though I may repeat myself, please understand, that his amazing and equally wonderful widow has been oh-so-patient with me as I endlessly promise to write this post, to just delete all that has been written.

But I have promised so very many times to write this.

And every time… I cry too much, or the words leave me. Tonight, I try to help you understand the loss of so many, far from just us.

‘Where did I go wrong, I lost a friend, somewhere along the way:

I would have stayed up with you all night, had I know how to save your life’

Paraphrased from a favorite song because it describes so much of my heart. If there was something, anything, I could have done to change the path before him, I would have. Had I known how to save a life, I would have.

Dustin Brunet was so much more to our lives than I can find the words to describe. When my husband died, all the men of his generation decided it was too difficult to be around my children. They walked. They bailed. They disappeared. But Dusty didn’t.

He taught my son to play chess.

He took my children hiking.

He let my son shave his (Dusty’s) head.

He showed my children no cliff was too high.

He taught my children no mountain was too steep.

He taught my son that a good iPhone will help you keep track of every detail you need to remember about your wife, from her bra size, to shoe size, to favorite spices.

He listened to my children. He listened to my children when they talked about things they knew nothing about but thought they knew everything about. Then he helped them learn everything about it.

He listened. He loved.

He was the most influential male my children have had since their Dad died.

And on October 25, 2011, he died in a car accident.

And our hearts, our lives, the lives of his children, his new wife, his parents, his sister… will never be the same.

“Every man dies… not every man truly lives”. This was Dusty’s favorite quote.

Dusty, I can’t describe the void you have left in our world.

Lives will never be the same, but lives are better having been shared with you.

You’ll be on my fridge watching me cook for a long time.

Just don’t ask for the pepper

 

 

 

 

 

It’s memories of my heart. This band, this group… is the WHY I got into the music industry… in a life a long, long time ago…

And yes, I’m missing where I was. But I’m ok with Winterpeg… Really I am.

Emily…

I know, I haven’t been posting well… anything.

For a long time.

I have promised someone I love very much, I will post tomorrow.

In the meantime... Listen to this song…