Categories
Poetry

Forever Home

Sorrow is quiet and soft.

How strange, that during the saddest times, the quiet is the loudest voice of all.

Tonight, I send my voice into the stillness.

To honour the love and the sorrow that lingers when we lose our most precious hearts.

Quiet, the place where unconditional love floats free.

Peace. Our soft and gentle, forever home.

Categories
Poetry

Rainbow

In my softness I hold this gift, for you.

A small slice of home,

and a tiny sun to shine

only on you, sweet friend.

This rain will pass,

it will pass on through the air.

And in your eyes I will find

the joy

lingering,

calling from the horizon of you.

And in my eyes, the shine of knowing.

Knowing that rain built the very rainbow

that now shields you, for life.

Knowing you always were okay.

Every moment.

Safe.

Loved.

And on your way.

Photo by cottonbro on Pexels.com
Categories
Life

Goodbye

No one would have seen it coming, least of all me. His death was inevitable: that part we all knew was coming.

But no one would have foreseen my reaction to it. Not the way it happened, not the way the emotional slideshow of me slowly played out like a blocked garden-hose building in pressure, waiting for the almighty explosion that eventually would come.

My Dad told me: ‘Aaron’s died.’ We were on our way home from our shared workplace, an hour and ten minute drive from the city to the country, where we lived. He did a good job, my Dad. Quiet. Calm. Matter of fact, but caring. My Aunty was the one that received the news. He’d been ill, which on top of the cystic fibrosis had finally proven too much for his already fragile body to handle. Someone should tell Brooke.

I’m not sure why Dad chose an hour long car ride to do it. Perhaps he and Mum felt it would allow me time to let it wash over me, I’m really not sure what they had expected. But one thing I do imagine they expected were tears.

There were none.

Not a single one.

When he’d broken up with me, I’d constructed a wall about a million miles high, and equally as wide to protect me from both the feeling of being rejected without proper means, and the feeling of loss I’d surely feel in the face of losing him. We both still cared for each other very much. Very much. Though, for family reasons that are a little too personal to share, here, he felt it best he protect his final years as best he could. By saying goodbye to me. I understood. Still, it hurt.

On New Years Eve (his very last one, as it would turn out) he called me at my Aunties house, where I’d escaped the boring walls of home for a much needed holiday. ‘Is Chookie there?’ he asked, to my Aunties amusement. I took the phone, smiled at my Aunty, and fell into our world, again. He’d missed me. I’d missed him, too. We laughed and chatted for a bit. Finally, we said goodbye.

A few months later, Aaron was gone. He was about twenty, from memory: I was eighteen. And I didn’t care at all that he was gone, and I absolutely would not be attending his funeral, so they could all just go on and forget about that, ridiculous nonsense.

The day of the funeral came. I got up, as usual, and made the long trip in with my Dad where I began my daily routine. Pick, pack, tape up the box. Pick, pack, tape up the box. I’m not sure what part of the work induced the explosion. Perhaps it was the ripping sound the tape makes when it whirls off the tape gun, or perhaps it was simply the fact that I was at work, in the first place. All anybody knew was that one moment I was fine. The next, I was wailing. Sobbing in the most out of control fashion I could muster.

My Dad took me to the train station. If I caught the early train, I should make it to the funeral on time, and so I boarded the V-Line back to the country and off I went to say my last goodbye to Aaron. Technically, not my Aaron, anymore. But, according to my heart…still very much, my Aaron, apparently.

The train ride was interesting. The poor lady across from me did her very best to pretend my dark sunglasses hid my tears (and quietened the accidental sob that sometimes escaped me. Meep.) The dusty town I arrived in was quiet, too. No one would notice as I wandered along the streets, searching for a church I’d never been to before, in a town I’d never been to before.

I wouldn’t ask for directions, either. More accurately, I couldn’t ask for directions, on account of me being that odd girl: too shy to talk to any human outside of her comfort zone. So I asked the universe for directions. My plan was (and this is no joke) to follow whichever direction my hair blew in the wind, because certainly whatever higher forces I was connected to would get me to the funeral. Bonus points if they got me there on time.

I walked. And walked. And walked.

Finally, and with no thanks at all to my hair, I found the church. A little late, but early enough. The funeral had just begun.

‘Chookie,’ Aaron’s beautiful Mum said, after the service, as she wrapped me in her arms, and thanked me for coming to say goodbye to her baby boy. She seemed happy to see me (really, really happy) and in that moment…I knew the explosion of me was meant to happen, that I was meant to be there. For Aaron, but for his beautiful family, too.

They may not have noticed my absence if I’d not gone: the church was overflowing with hundreds, all of whom, apparently, Aaron had touched with his cheekiness, joy and boundless wisdom, too.

But I was there. And his family did notice.

I was grateful.

Grateful the morning had brought about the most unexpected emotional explosion, ever to have rocked my world.

And grateful my inner walls had crumbled.

Right in the nick of time.

Photo by Rachel Claire on Pexels.com

Categories
Poetry

Everything Will Be Alright

Hush.

Close your eyes.

Breathe.

It’s alright.

Everything will be alright.

Categories
Poetry

Reality

Reality strikes hard, sometimes.

The pain.

The pain of others: it tears me to the bone.

The delicacy of life, its precious petals.

It all aches within this lithe human frame of mine.

Cold impermanence.

Startling truth.

Fragile life.

Sometimes it tears us.

And I know you don’t want to,

but let yourself see:

sometimes it tears us.

I will hold you when it tears you.

I will hold you.

I will hold you.

Categories
Poetry

The Same

Bliss

and

grief

are powerfully

confusingly

the same.

Categories
Life

Sleep

It’s 4:11am.

The waves of a broken life roll through me like an unwelcome surprise upon a drying shore.

I think about hot chocolate and the sound of the ocean, because they soothe me.

Thank goodness for hot chocolate and the ocean.

Perhaps I might open up and let them flow a little deeper into me.

Perhaps, then, I might sleep again.

Categories
Life

You Matter To Me

Reaching out my hand to you

forgetting what you’ve done,

there’s never any reason, dear

for you to turn and run.

 

Some days you may feel black and blue,

some loves will break your heart,

but every day will always be

the chance for a new start.

 

A million voices from outside

ignite the storm within,

but let this be your chance to say:

I WILL NOT LET YOU WIN.

 

Become the shine you know you are

and sing your song so true,

for never will there ever be

another quite like you.

* *. *

To all the beautiful humans struggling with guilt or shame or a broken heart. I see you. You are not broken, you are human, and you are all the lovely things.

You matter to me. No-matter-what.

Tomorrow, we begin again.

So much love, Brooke.

Categories
Life

Soar

Take these wings and soar, little friend.

Over the rainbow bridge,

and into the diamond sky

of our forever.

Categories
Life

When A Butterfly Takes Flight

It’s the broken heart of my life.

When the soft girl found me, she brought me the most beautiful things. She helped me to feel the trees, and sing with them into the sun. She helped me to turn my most beautiful aches into words— words that so often break my heart and mend my soul: the very thing my words were always meant to do.

But the soft girl has taken so many things from me, also.

And one of those things is my beautiful husband: the most loyal and beautiful friend I’ve ever known.

He is, and always will be, one of my most precious people (and I have a feeling that I will always be one of his.) But over time it became very obvious that our puzzle pieces just weren’t fitting together anymore, and we’ve finally come to admit the truth of that. To ourselves. And to each other. It’s been a bit of a tough time for both of us, needless to say.

At the moment, I’m still processing things emotionally, but as usual this place and the beautiful friends I’ve found here remain the superglue that holds me together— I will always be so grateful to you guys for that. (I’m getting a bit love-hearty again, aren’t I, guys? Lol. You know I’ll never stop.)

What I’m trying to say is: life is a little hard for me at the moment, but I’ll be okay. I’ve got my trees. I’ve got my music. I’ve got my two precious little people, and the promise of a brighter version of the Mum they already know.

And last but not least…I’ve got you. And you’ve got me. And because you’ve got me, you’ve got all the dreamy love hearts, always and forever.

Because that’s just the way this soft girl of mine rolls.

crop field under rainbow and cloudy skies at dayime
Photo by James Wheeler on Pexels.com