Bad angles for your bad angels.

An unflattering photograph, a snarky remark, an unexpected flip of the switch. Sometimes I try to make myself ugly and undesirable so people will stop wanting so much from me. It's not a self-destructive habit I do on the daily or anything, but I guess I've done it enough times that you could call it a pattern. Mostly with people I deeply love, and thus, fear losing. Just rip the band-aid off already. Show the monsters.

I do it subconsciously at first, then more intentionally as I'm given more love or forced to make decisions I don't want to make. Self-sabotage in earnest. Works a little too well at times. I always regret it in the aftermath - testing love like that. But for a minute, it confirms that my flaws are bigger than the love I deserve. In some sick and twisted way, this feels safe to me. It keeps things knowable and predictable. I hate the way loss feels when I have no idea it's coming. If I somewhat orchestrate the end, then it feels a little less horrible when things go wrong.

Alas, this has only ever backfired. I end up having to recover from pushing people away because at my core, I'm a lover. I see now that the vulnerability I spout off about incessantly is the same trait I'm having trouble mirroring for those in my life who actually want to love me. So I'm getting better at this in my relationships. We live, we love, we grow.

In any case, here's to moments of softness amid the harsh angles and uncut edges. Whatever I show of myself here, I promise to always reveal every piece, not just the jaded cynical parts, but also the sides that are soft, hopeful, and whimsical. However that turns out, maybe it'll be enough to make you stay.

He ain’t heavy

Years.

17 of them, to be exact.

The chasm between the amount of time you’ve been gone and the time that I got to spend with you is ever widening. It’s easy to feel cheated, robbed, and paralyzed by the unfairness of it all. It’s easy to cling to anger, rage and despair. Grief moves like an ocean, unpredictably and unforgivingly. Sometimes I’m set adrift, still caught up in the depths of it. But then I remember that we are just souls floating in this realm for finite amounts of time. Our journeys are never linear or etched in stone, and nothing is ours to claim forever. I can be angry about your shortened life or I can revel in what I've learned from its brevity. After all, I believe the remnants of our time on earth are best surveyed through the lens of gratitude and everlasting love. These are the gifts we leave behind. Gratitude for the way grief reminds us to treasure the things we might otherwise disregard as minutiae, like those little check-ins you’d do at the most random moments just to make sure all was good with me and "the boys", your OCD routines, the way you smelled, and the annoying things you did that got under my skin. Nothing seems too small or insignificant. I wish I had a jar to safely contain every memory and retrieve it on a whim.

You taught me to hold space. To treat human connections as sacred; as an exchange between souls, not meant for profit or personal gain. You helped me strive to be a little kinder; more attuned to pain and suffering. I know that ultimately we are only just walking alongside each other through a portal to another door. Maybe that’s the purpose of it all. Just to be able to walk each other home.

And now that our darling Baba has made her way home to you, this anniversary feels different. How I wish I'd been privy to that reunion. It’s healing to know that you are together again, relishing in the beauty of that unshakeable bond. Thick as thieves in life, I picture you two in the spirit realm embracing and shaking your tail feathers, full of laughter and joy.

We borrow our time here. The years are a lottery draw. Whether we get 25 or 85, we make an impact. You and Baba are proof of that, Dave. Our love transcends time and space.

Your body was lost, but your soul is infinite. ✨

The Queen of the Silver Dollar.

This is a hard one.

Weeks after being diagnosed with brain cancer, my darling Baba died last Friday.

Here is my memorial tribute to her:

On October 20th, 2023, at the age of 85, our ever so tenacious matriarch Fay Forsyth peacefully departed this world and entered into eternal rest.

I take comfort in knowing that she is reunited with her sweetheart, my Pa Jim, as well as a treasured collection of beloved family and friends.

Born in the Kootenays in the tiny Doukhobor community of Shoreacres, Baba started out her life as ‘Florence’. A small town girl determined to branch out and choose her own life and adventures, she soon decided to take the name ‘Fay’. Given how she infused a sense of magic into every situation, a moniker meaning ‘fairy’ proved fitting for the effervescent woman she would become. To her grandchildren, she was simply ‘Baba’. A warm, safe place to land. With soft blue eyes that gleamed with a playful zest for life and a tad of good trouble, Baba filled our childhoods with endless fun, imaginative play, and an appreciation for nature. Being in her presence always felt like home.

Baba’s soft side shined through when she fondly recalled her years as a bus driver for disabled children. As with the story of little Eric, who loved her so much that he exclaimed, “kiss me baby, but don’t slobber!”

As fierce and shrewd as she was funny and tender, Baba wasn’t one to mess with. But when facing the storms of life, it was in her arms that we ultimately found comfort. Her sharp wit and incredible memory made her a masterful storyteller. She never let me forget how, at 9 months old, I was the first and only grandchild to tell her to shut up (‘ya yup’).

I’ll cherish each and every memory. Dancing (‘shake your tail feather, babs!’), bonfires, boat rides, and trips up the mountain. Homemade borscht and baba juice. That time we had a sleepover in the sunroom, and like usual, stayed up chatting into the wee hours.

Though her body is at rest, her soul is infinitely weaved into the fabric of my life. I have immense gratitude for all she gave and left behind. Such an omnipresent force she was, that it seemed as though she’d live forever. In a way, she always will.

Sleep peacefully, babaroo. It’s not goodbye forever. It’s just goodbye for now. You’ll always be my hummingbird.

Ya lyublyu tebya. 💜