(and yes, I know I can edit my posts. I think this can stand alone though)
I want to apologize. Grief is a selfish thing, I think. Like I repeatedly said, I've been in my own head a lot this week. I realize that other things are happening in the big wide world. I just can't seem to make myself care about them.
I'm pretty introspective by nature, and this has seemed to intensify that tendency.
People mourn in different ways. They have paid mourners over in Israel, I'm told. I read that once upon a time, it was the custom in a different country for a man's widow to set herself on fire and leap onto his funeral pyre. Some people block out the fact that it never happened. Some people get all aggressive and verbally attack anyone who doesn't offer condolences to their liking. Some people re-invent the deceased as someone completely different than who they were in life, ignore what their wishes were for their services, and accept condolences that belonged to someone else. *cough cough*
Me? This is my blog. To paraphrase Anthony Bourdain, "I cook, I write." Scotty had a tendency towards other artists. My food is my art. My writing is my art.
I am writing my way through my grief. It's selfish, but it's what I have to do. We all have our own ways of grieving, and mine is writing letters to my brother, analyzing what's going on in my head and putting it down here. If it helps someone else in the same situation, that's great. I think that that would make Scotty happy, and would be just the kind of thing he'd want to see happen. But as of this moment in time, 3:26 am, February 26'th, 2011, it's for me. So I can work through this and get back to being the mom, cook, daughter, lover that I was a week ago. Because for now, all I am is pain, regret, and a woman who has lost someone so dear that words cannot define it.
Saturday, February 26, 2011
Me
I posted the following today as a comment to my "mother-in-law" (Jeremy and I are not married, but we have been together nearly five years, therefore I regard her as my mother in law. I consider his family my family, just as he considers my family his.)
I posted my blog entry "They Call It Life" as a note on Facebook. I received several comments. MIL's most recent was
I posted my blog entry "They Call It Life" as a note on Facebook. I received several comments. MIL's most recent was
"Megan , sweetheart I KNOW the pain you are feeling, and I can honestly say that as losing a brother myself, the pain and emptiness is something that unless you have been through it, people truly do not understand. This is beautiful what you... wrote, but the world is not crappy honey, it is what you make in your OWN life and in YOUR world...that is what life is about, counting your blessings ever single day and making your world , your babies Jeremy, and family and friends the best you can cuz that is what life is !!! Cherishing the fact that you wake up everyday with those blessings because of losing Scottie now you KNOW it can all be gone in a New York minute as the song goes !!! I LOVE YOU"
My response:
"Sherry, I love you too. Here's the thing. My world, the one I live in and move in daily, is a good one. It's lost a lot of its color and sunshine, but it is still one full of love and one that most people would envy.
The world at large thoug...h, the one on the evening news and the one you go into when you leave the house alone, is a crappy place. Bigots, gay-bashers, genocide, neglect. The number of assholes far outnumbers the number of good people. Granted, I've always tended toward pessimism - experience shapes outlook, and while my home life was good my experiences outside the home were awful, to say the least. Losing Scott hasn't done much for that, and I had a long talk with Jeremy about it last night, and my resulting doubts that there is any sort of order to the universe.
I believe in love. I'm lucky to have so much of it in my life, and to have your son and our children and your family, which I consider my family as well.
But I also have a lot of questions, and a lot of anger. Dealing with the death of my grandparents was hard, but it was easier because they had lived long lives, and they had both been sick for a while. Losing Scott was like a baseball bat to the head in a dark alley. I have a tendency to brood on things, and it is going to take me a long time to work through this, so please be patient.
I love you."
The world at large thoug...h, the one on the evening news and the one you go into when you leave the house alone, is a crappy place. Bigots, gay-bashers, genocide, neglect. The number of assholes far outnumbers the number of good people. Granted, I've always tended toward pessimism - experience shapes outlook, and while my home life was good my experiences outside the home were awful, to say the least. Losing Scott hasn't done much for that, and I had a long talk with Jeremy about it last night, and my resulting doubts that there is any sort of order to the universe.
I believe in love. I'm lucky to have so much of it in my life, and to have your son and our children and your family, which I consider my family as well.
But I also have a lot of questions, and a lot of anger. Dealing with the death of my grandparents was hard, but it was easier because they had lived long lives, and they had both been sick for a while. Losing Scott was like a baseball bat to the head in a dark alley. I have a tendency to brood on things, and it is going to take me a long time to work through this, so please be patient.
I love you."
So, with that being said, here are my thoughts tonight.
Scotty's viewing was at Stone Funeral Home today. I chose not to go. I have my reasons, the two biggest of which being that #1, everything that his biological father is doing funeral wise went against Scotty's wishes, and so I opted to do something Scotty would have approved of - I went to my sister's house with Jeremy and the boys, I cooked dinner with Jeni, and watched the cousins play. #2: I want to remember Scotty the way he was the last time I saw him. As I've stated, his arm was tight around my shoulders, he kept rubbing the top of my head with his hand because he liked the way my hair felt, and he stooped down (he was more than a foot taller than me) to rub his cheek against mine. Both Scotty and I are - were - sensual people in that we love things like the feel of a bristly cheek against a smooth one, or a hand petting a head. It's just one of our things. Plus, I had long hair for a very long time, and when I had Jeni buzz my hair all off, Scotty saw the pics and described me as looking like an angry Tinkerbell. I find the description apropos.
I've been stuck in my own head a lot since this happened. I still feel like I was attacked with a tire iron in a dark alley - the shock and pain are that great. I'm angry. Very angry. I want to find everyone who ever used the words "homo," "queer," or "faggot" in my presence and stomp the shit out of them. I want to beat the hell out of Scotty's biological dad for treating him like shit, for not realizing the precious gift that he had in his son, and for the abuse that Scotty told me he received at that man's hands. I want to go gay-basher-bashing, if that makes sense. I want to set things on fire and watch them burn, beat the hell out of a weight bag at the gym, scream and tear my hair out and rage and kick things and punch walls until I collapse.
There are a lot of strange things about me. I'm an odd person, and I've never made any secret of that fact. I'm the world's pickiest eater. I am quite comfortable with staying up till 4 am and waking up at 1 pm. I dye my hair random colors, live in my blue jeans, and drink coffee before bed to relax. Scotty was the only person who never questioned one of my peccadillos.
Before we got to the point where we decided we were family, I was having an awful day. I fake like I'm confident. I'm good at that. But my self esteem is horrible. I hate my boobs, my round ass, my thick legs, etc. I pissed and moaned about it to him for a while, and then Scotty just shook his head and said, "I'm not friends with unattractive people."
So many memories of him, and they're still not enough. Ugh. I have to get back to my point.
I've been thinking and thinking and thinking since I found out that he'd been rushed to the hospital. My personal belief structure is odd, like me. I've tried Christianity, and it didn't work. Do I believe in a higher power? That's up for debate. Am I an atheist? No. For a long time, my god was love. Just love. That's all there is to that. I believed that everyone's life had a pattern to it, that "bad luck" was just your unknowingly deviating from the pattern that you were supposed to follow. And I believed that everything happened for a reason.
I don't buy it anymore. I don't believe in a Christian god. First off, anyone that would condemn someone to hell for their sexual preference sure as shit isn't "all about love" as the propaganda would have us believe.
Second, a god that is "all about love" wouldn't have taken my brother. You've seen my Facebook notes and my posts. You can go to facebook and search "Scott Alan Dixon." Pick the profile of the good-looking guy with dark hair and blue eyes. Read his wall. Scotty was love, hence me always referring to him as Scotty-love. He was non-judgmental. He loved life, he loved people. He brought color and light and life and joy and love into the world. If the whole mission of Christianity is to spread god's love, and god creates the souls that reside within us, why in the motherfucking hell would he take a person who did nothing but spread love? If I believed in a higher power, it would resemble my brother. Joyful, artistic, beautiful voice, and accepting of people, regardless of their faults and foibles.
Part of me would really like to think that there's a heaven, because it would mean that I'd get to be with Scotty again at some point. I really would. Shit, I'd love it. I wish I could believe it, I really do, as much as I'd love to believe that there was a plan behind all this, some sort of reasoning that will make sense to me and to everyone he left behind at some point. But there's not.
The universe is a bitch. There's nothing logical. What happens is random. There's no sense or order to it.
Life is fragile, right? If someone as beautiful as you can be snatched away in a minute, doesn't that tell us something? That we need to say what we mean instead of second-guessing ourselves, tell our loved ones that we love them more often? Laugh at the antics our children get up to, take the chance and ask that person you've been crushing on for forever out on a date?
This world is a shitty place. I stand by that statement. While misogyny,misandry, bigotry, homophobia, racism, sexism, all those negative -isms exist, it will be. While war occurs, it will be. Anytime someone kills another person because they don't like how they look or who they're fucking, it will be.
But here's the thing. We can be what Scotty wanted us to be. Instead of raging because you're stuck in traffic, sing along with the radio, or talk to your kids in the back seat. Let people go ahead of you in line. Try something new. Try to put aside any convictions you have that gays are going to hell, that all people of middle eastern descent are terrorists, that children born out of wedlock are automatically condemned, that multiracial relationships are wrong. Let go of your paranoia and replace it with trust in your fellow man. If someone ranks you out, let it go and smile at them.
Like I said, I have a lot of anger right now. It's me. I'm an angry little Irish midget; I have a reputation for being too stubborn, and while my temper is better than it was, it's still pretty fierce. I'm going to try to let it go.
Stand up for what you believe, but don't be an asshole about it.
Try to create something.
Try to make this world more beautiful. It's a crappy place, but it can be improved.
Whether you knew Scotty-love or not, honor his memory, please.
And Scotty-love, darlin' boy, I know you're reading this, and I can just see you putting your hands up and saying "whoa, whoa, WHOA, melodrama much?" But this is what it is. You've always known I was a pessimist, but for you, I'm going to try to see that glass as half full. I love you, kiddo.Always.
PS. I would just like to clarify one point: I am practicing what I say here. I am doing my best to honor his memory by helping to pass his message of love wherever I go. That being said, anyone says ANYTHING negative about gay people around me, they're getting fucked up. And I'll be wearing my purple Doc Martens while I do the stomping.
Friday, February 25, 2011
Recipe
This is not your standard gnocchi, which is generally made with potatoes. This uses ricotta, preferably homemade (it's simple, it's easy, it requires a minimum of effort, and the flavor is incredible). The flavor, to me, is like ravioli filling without the pasta exterior. This takes about a half hour to put together, but is so delicious. I made it for dinner tonight, and I wanted to share. It's good with tomato sauce, or even with herbed butter (I like basil butter, with a tiny dash of lemon juice and a light dusting of cinnamon).
Ricotta Gnocchi:
2 cups whole-milk ricotta (1 pound) (if you are making your own, 1 lb of ricotta = 1 gallon of whole milk. Or, 1/2 gallon whole milk and 1/2 gallon of heavy cream, if you want the richer flavor that it will provide)
2 large eggs, scrambled
2 cups grated parmesan cheese
1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour, plus more for dusting.
Line a colander with paper towels. Place the ricotta in the colander, cover with more towels, and press down until most of the excess moisture has been wicked away.
In a large bowl, scramble the eggs.
Fill a large stock pot with salted water (I use enough salt to fit in my palm when I make a fist, and I have small hands), and bring to a rolling boil.
Mix the dry ricotta into the eggs. Fold in the parmesan cheese.
Add flour, 1/4 cup at a time, mixing after each addition. (I recommend using your hands for this, so that you can check the dough's consistency.) You're looking for it to feel something like cookie dough, rather than bread dough. Taste the dough, then add salt and pepper to your own taste.
Divide the dough into three parts. Dust your counter or workspace with flour, then roll each part out into a long rope about 1 1/2" in diameter. Use a butter knife or pastry cutter to cut the rope into thumb-width pieces.
Use a slotted or perforated spoon to lower the gnocchi into the boiling water, a few at a time. You don't want to crowd the pot, because it will lower the water's temperature and possibly cause the gnocchi to get glued to each other. Cook them for three or four minutes - about two minutes after they float to the surface (you may have to stir them) is a good indicator. Use the spoon to remove them to a colander to drain. Be sure to bring the water back to a boil, adding more water as needed, before cooking each batch.
Sauce and serve immediately.
Ricotta Gnocchi:
Line a colander with paper towels. Place the ricotta in the colander, cover with more towels, and press down until most of the excess moisture has been wicked away.
In a large bowl, scramble the eggs.
Fill a large stock pot with salted water (I use enough salt to fit in my palm when I make a fist, and I have small hands), and bring to a rolling boil.
Mix the dry ricotta into the eggs. Fold in the parmesan cheese.
Add flour, 1/4 cup at a time, mixing after each addition. (I recommend using your hands for this, so that you can check the dough's consistency.) You're looking for it to feel something like cookie dough, rather than bread dough. Taste the dough, then add salt and pepper to your own taste.
Divide the dough into three parts. Dust your counter or workspace with flour, then roll each part out into a long rope about 1 1/2" in diameter. Use a butter knife or pastry cutter to cut the rope into thumb-width pieces.
Use a slotted or perforated spoon to lower the gnocchi into the boiling water, a few at a time. You don't want to crowd the pot, because it will lower the water's temperature and possibly cause the gnocchi to get glued to each other. Cook them for three or four minutes - about two minutes after they float to the surface (you may have to stir them) is a good indicator. Use the spoon to remove them to a colander to drain. Be sure to bring the water back to a boil, adding more water as needed, before cooking each batch.
Sauce and serve immediately.
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
They Call It Life
It's been a very rough few days, to understate the matter. And it's had me thinking a lot.
When any sort of tragedy hits, be it minor or major, you discover very quickly who your friends are. They're the ones who contact you, not just once, but a few times over the course of days, to see how you're doing. For everyone who did that with me, whether it was via phone call, text, email, or Facebook, I give you my biggest and most heartfelt thanks. I cannot express my gratitude in this language or in any other.
My friend Corey Robinson told me, years ago before he passed, that "family need not be blood." Basically, you have two families in this life. The family you are born into/are raised with, and the family that you choose, that you create with your heart. Some of us are lucky enough to have the two overlap. I'm one of those. I was born into a pretty kick-ass family, and as I have grown "from a seed to a tree" as Shannon Hoon put it, that family has only expanded. I have more people that I would consider family now than I would ever have imagined possible back when I was an angry freshman in high school.
One of those people was Scotty. I feel like crap for taking more time to get to know him than the rest of my family did. What can I say, I tend to hold people at arm's length at first, and I was much worse back then. Seriously. Scotty was very much responsible for relieving me of much of my cynical attitude that everyone was either out to get me or was laughing at me behind my back, and that no one short of my immediate family actually liked me. I am not saying this in an attempt to garner any sort of sympathy or reassurance as to who likes me and who does not, so if you comment, please refrain from doing so. I am explaining something here.
Scotty had no patience with me taking my time to warm up to him. Any time I glanced at him, he grinned at me. He carried on conversations no matter how limited my responses were. Hell, he snuck up behind me one night and decided to rub my shoulders, which scared the bejeezus out of me and almost got him punched. And his efforts paid off. He cracked my shell and pretty soon he'd made himself a spot in my heart.
Scotty introduced me as his sister, my siblings as his siblings. He called my parents his parents too. Whether there was common DNA between us or not is irrelevant. He was my brother, and I loved him for everything he was, everything he stood for, and everything he hoped for, wished for, dreamed of. I love him as much as I do Travis, Jeni, Mom, Dad, and Diddy. When he told me he considered me his sister, I never thought twice about it.
I don't need a piece of paper to tell me what's written in the heart. I know what he told me, and how I felt. I know what he'd say on the phone or what he would text me, or what I would text him. And I know what he said to his friends about me, my sibs, and my folks.
That being said, I am honoring him in the way I live my life. I am honoring the principle of love that he lived out every day. I am blessed with some of the best friends in the world, and I've deleted the ones from my friend list who weren't really friends at all. I'm going to stop being passive in regards to waiting for things to happen, because after all, you never know what's going to happen. I'm going to go after what I want, and do what I need to do. I'm going to email people regarding job applications (including the people at the casino). I'm going to start wearing bright colors more often and wearing makeup whenever I leave the house, because those are things he brought up to me frequently. I'm going to sing more often, even though my voice is mediocre at best. I'm going to raise my boys to be accepting of people of all sorts, to determine who they associate with based on each individual's personality, rather than the other things kids tend to judge people on. Compassion instead of prejudice, love instead of fear. I'll teach them to dance like no one is watching, to greet the world with an open heart and open eyes, and to treat people the way they'd want to be treated themselves.
For the legacy of love, acceptance, and joy that he left me, I give thanks.
For the privilege of knowing him, I give thanks.
For the honor of being considered his sister, for being part of his heart family, I give thanks.
When any sort of tragedy hits, be it minor or major, you discover very quickly who your friends are. They're the ones who contact you, not just once, but a few times over the course of days, to see how you're doing. For everyone who did that with me, whether it was via phone call, text, email, or Facebook, I give you my biggest and most heartfelt thanks. I cannot express my gratitude in this language or in any other.
My friend Corey Robinson told me, years ago before he passed, that "family need not be blood." Basically, you have two families in this life. The family you are born into/are raised with, and the family that you choose, that you create with your heart. Some of us are lucky enough to have the two overlap. I'm one of those. I was born into a pretty kick-ass family, and as I have grown "from a seed to a tree" as Shannon Hoon put it, that family has only expanded. I have more people that I would consider family now than I would ever have imagined possible back when I was an angry freshman in high school.
One of those people was Scotty. I feel like crap for taking more time to get to know him than the rest of my family did. What can I say, I tend to hold people at arm's length at first, and I was much worse back then. Seriously. Scotty was very much responsible for relieving me of much of my cynical attitude that everyone was either out to get me or was laughing at me behind my back, and that no one short of my immediate family actually liked me. I am not saying this in an attempt to garner any sort of sympathy or reassurance as to who likes me and who does not, so if you comment, please refrain from doing so. I am explaining something here.
Scotty had no patience with me taking my time to warm up to him. Any time I glanced at him, he grinned at me. He carried on conversations no matter how limited my responses were. Hell, he snuck up behind me one night and decided to rub my shoulders, which scared the bejeezus out of me and almost got him punched. And his efforts paid off. He cracked my shell and pretty soon he'd made himself a spot in my heart.
Scotty introduced me as his sister, my siblings as his siblings. He called my parents his parents too. Whether there was common DNA between us or not is irrelevant. He was my brother, and I loved him for everything he was, everything he stood for, and everything he hoped for, wished for, dreamed of. I love him as much as I do Travis, Jeni, Mom, Dad, and Diddy. When he told me he considered me his sister, I never thought twice about it.
I don't need a piece of paper to tell me what's written in the heart. I know what he told me, and how I felt. I know what he'd say on the phone or what he would text me, or what I would text him. And I know what he said to his friends about me, my sibs, and my folks.
That being said, I am honoring him in the way I live my life. I am honoring the principle of love that he lived out every day. I am blessed with some of the best friends in the world, and I've deleted the ones from my friend list who weren't really friends at all. I'm going to stop being passive in regards to waiting for things to happen, because after all, you never know what's going to happen. I'm going to go after what I want, and do what I need to do. I'm going to email people regarding job applications (including the people at the casino). I'm going to start wearing bright colors more often and wearing makeup whenever I leave the house, because those are things he brought up to me frequently. I'm going to sing more often, even though my voice is mediocre at best. I'm going to raise my boys to be accepting of people of all sorts, to determine who they associate with based on each individual's personality, rather than the other things kids tend to judge people on. Compassion instead of prejudice, love instead of fear. I'll teach them to dance like no one is watching, to greet the world with an open heart and open eyes, and to treat people the way they'd want to be treated themselves.
For the legacy of love, acceptance, and joy that he left me, I give thanks.
For the privilege of knowing him, I give thanks.
For the honor of being considered his sister, for being part of his heart family, I give thanks.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Dear Scotty,
So, I put your plate out tonight. According to my beliefs, you're traveling to everywhere you've ever been right now. I made cookies tonight, so I put two of them out for you, along with a little tin foil heart and the requisite tobacco.
It isn't getting any easier, but it isn't any harder either, if that makes any sense. I'm not sure. It's still fairly unreal to me, I guess. I made myself get dressed today. I needed a stamp so I could mail my state taxes, and Jeremy thought it would be good for me to get out of the house. I hadn't left since Saturday. Actually, I hadn't gotten dressed since Sunday. I was getting ready to throw on a huge tee shirt and a pair of sweats, but I stopped myself. I remembered I'd promised you I'd start trying to dress a little more girly for you. So I brushed my hair, put on some eye makeup, jeans (but ones that fit), and a v neck fitted shirt. I made an effort to smile at the clerk when I bought the stamp, and I let people go ahead of me at the four-way stops.
I don't know, kiddo. It's shitty, you know? I hope you met up with Matt and Corey - maybe you're schooling Corey at DDR or something while Matt laughs? Or maybe you and Matt are comparing your writing or drawing? Or maybe you've just got your back against a tree and are relaxing - God knows you never did enough of that.
I miss you so much. I keep clicking over to view my own profile on Facebook, because I know which of my statuses you commented on. I tweeted about you tonight to another artist, and I think I might go back on my meds for a little while. I want it to hurt that you're gone. I need it to hurt. But I've gotta take care of these kids too, and I know if anyone would understand that it's you.
I wish you could have seen Jonah dance. I know you would have enjoyed it, and maybe you would have taught him a couple different moves other than his current bounce up and down, spin in a circle, and shake his non-existent butt. Or maybe you just would have laughed.
I'm getting a tattoo for you. Or rather, I guess it's for me, but it's representative of you. You know, like my cook free or die tattoo is representative of me. Anyway, it's got rainbow stars in it. You'll like it.
I better get to bed now. I keep hoping I'll wake up and this will be a nightmare, but every day that hope gets a little fainter.
I love you,
Megan
So, I put your plate out tonight. According to my beliefs, you're traveling to everywhere you've ever been right now. I made cookies tonight, so I put two of them out for you, along with a little tin foil heart and the requisite tobacco.
It isn't getting any easier, but it isn't any harder either, if that makes any sense. I'm not sure. It's still fairly unreal to me, I guess. I made myself get dressed today. I needed a stamp so I could mail my state taxes, and Jeremy thought it would be good for me to get out of the house. I hadn't left since Saturday. Actually, I hadn't gotten dressed since Sunday. I was getting ready to throw on a huge tee shirt and a pair of sweats, but I stopped myself. I remembered I'd promised you I'd start trying to dress a little more girly for you. So I brushed my hair, put on some eye makeup, jeans (but ones that fit), and a v neck fitted shirt. I made an effort to smile at the clerk when I bought the stamp, and I let people go ahead of me at the four-way stops.
I don't know, kiddo. It's shitty, you know? I hope you met up with Matt and Corey - maybe you're schooling Corey at DDR or something while Matt laughs? Or maybe you and Matt are comparing your writing or drawing? Or maybe you've just got your back against a tree and are relaxing - God knows you never did enough of that.
I miss you so much. I keep clicking over to view my own profile on Facebook, because I know which of my statuses you commented on. I tweeted about you tonight to another artist, and I think I might go back on my meds for a little while. I want it to hurt that you're gone. I need it to hurt. But I've gotta take care of these kids too, and I know if anyone would understand that it's you.
I wish you could have seen Jonah dance. I know you would have enjoyed it, and maybe you would have taught him a couple different moves other than his current bounce up and down, spin in a circle, and shake his non-existent butt. Or maybe you just would have laughed.
I'm getting a tattoo for you. Or rather, I guess it's for me, but it's representative of you. You know, like my cook free or die tattoo is representative of me. Anyway, it's got rainbow stars in it. You'll like it.
I better get to bed now. I keep hoping I'll wake up and this will be a nightmare, but every day that hope gets a little fainter.
I love you,
Megan
Monday, February 21, 2011
Dear Scotty
Dear Scotty,
Today I posted the following as my Facebook status: "We lost a beautiful person yesterday, my brother Scott Dixon. In his honor, I would ask that you all do something to make the world more beautiful, the way he did everyday. Try to see something good in someone you can't stand. Refrain from using the words "gay, fag, homo," etc as derogatory terms or hate speech. Hug your dear ones, and tell them you love them. He would want that."
I've been trying to think of tributes to you. It still doesn't seem real to me on one level. On another level, it's too real. I know that you would want me to be happy and strong, and I swear I will try. It just isn't fair. I should have gotten to talk to you, to give you one more hug. I can still feel the way you always kept one arm around my shoulder and petted my head with your free hand every time I saw you.
I have shared so many of my favorite memories of you with Jeni, with Sierra, with Jeremy, with everyone I'm friends with on Facebook. It's a bittersweet thing, this sharing.
In your honor, I am making the following vows:
I will tell my loved ones that I love them more often.
I will do something every day to brighten this world you had to leave behind so soon.
I will tell my boys often about their uncle Scotty-love, why I always called you that, and how wonderful you were.
I'll do my best to start dressing more like a girl, since you always yelled at me about that.
I'll plant flowers for you, take more walks at dark, and every time I sing, whether a lullaby to Matthew and Jonah, or in the shower, or in the car, I'll think of you.
For very tear I shed when your face pops up in my mind, I'll try for a smile to match it.
I love you, kiddo, and I miss you so much.
Love,
Megan
Today I posted the following as my Facebook status: "We lost a beautiful person yesterday, my brother Scott Dixon. In his honor, I would ask that you all do something to make the world more beautiful, the way he did everyday. Try to see something good in someone you can't stand. Refrain from using the words "gay, fag, homo," etc as derogatory terms or hate speech. Hug your dear ones, and tell them you love them. He would want that."
I've been trying to think of tributes to you. It still doesn't seem real to me on one level. On another level, it's too real. I know that you would want me to be happy and strong, and I swear I will try. It just isn't fair. I should have gotten to talk to you, to give you one more hug. I can still feel the way you always kept one arm around my shoulder and petted my head with your free hand every time I saw you.
I have shared so many of my favorite memories of you with Jeni, with Sierra, with Jeremy, with everyone I'm friends with on Facebook. It's a bittersweet thing, this sharing.
In your honor, I am making the following vows:
I will tell my loved ones that I love them more often.
I will do something every day to brighten this world you had to leave behind so soon.
I will tell my boys often about their uncle Scotty-love, why I always called you that, and how wonderful you were.
I'll do my best to start dressing more like a girl, since you always yelled at me about that.
I'll plant flowers for you, take more walks at dark, and every time I sing, whether a lullaby to Matthew and Jonah, or in the shower, or in the car, I'll think of you.
For very tear I shed when your face pops up in my mind, I'll try for a smile to match it.
I love you, kiddo, and I miss you so much.
Love,
Megan
Sunday, February 20, 2011
My Scotty
To my brother Scotty
Dear Scotty,
I am alternating between shock, grief, and denial. Part of my brain keeps coughing up trite understatements like "he was too beautiful for this world" and "the brightest stars burn out the fastest." Another part keeps saying the doctors made a mistake, that there's no way this happened. And the rest of me just wants to kick and scream, punch holes through walls, set something on fire to watch it burn and hope the smoke carries my words to you, or an echo of your voice to my ears.
I had a dream last night that I was standing in your hospital room. You sat up and smiled at me and told me I'd been worrying over nothing. Were you telling me goodbye? I woke up, convinced of the dream's reality, only to get the voicemail notification that you were gone.
Scotty-love, I know you're watching me write this. I know you'd never cause anyone deliberate pain. I wonder if you know just how big the hole is that your loss has created. The edges are ragged and burnt, a wound beyond mending, beyond healing.
I remember camping on the beach with you. Drinking cheap wine coolers in my apartment in Mullet Lake, when you complimented the roses on my rug, directly addressing them, then curling up on the foot of my bed to sleep. I remember the hip-check dance we used to do when we fried chicken together at the Dam Site. I remember the night of candy and cheesecake after Eddie dumped me, the way you rushed offstage mid-performance to answer your phone when I called to tell you you had a new nephew. I remember how you choked up when we made you Jonah's godfather. I remember the night we snuck through Bay View in the dark, on foot, for the hell of it, the way we could never find your car when we walked out of WalMart after shopping. I remember the way you always glowed. I told everyone you were my sunshine, and it was true.
I was a fat, bitter, angry girl when I met you. You coaxed me out of that, convinced me to start dressing in something other than oversized tee shirts and baggy cargo pants, made me go shopping with you, refused to let me buy anything other than "girl clothes," and told me I was beautiful so many times I had no choice but to believe you. I could be in the foulest mood, or in the depths of the blackest depression, and the mere fact of your presence would make it a good day again.
Just by being you, you showed me and everyone else in your life the ideal of what a man should be. True, honest, faithful, loyal, an innate talent for seeing and bringing out the best in everyone. You had a trick of texting me at random, somehow sensing something in my life wasn't right. Usually the texts would read "I love you!!" but once, on a particularly rotten day, "I don't know if I've told you this, Meg, but you're one of the best sisters a guy could have. Much love."
You gave me so much, sweetie. Laughter, love, and the courage to be myself. You were as much my brother as if Mom had given birth to you. To hear you sing, to watch you dance was to experience pure joy, to feel my heart soar.
I've been watching your YouTube channel all day, alternating it with "Light and Day" by the Polyphonic Spree, because that song - the feel of it, the joy in the music and the way it soars with ease - has never failed to remind me of you.
You were light and peace, happiness, the sun after the rain, the epitome of light and joy and spirit in its purest form. The world is a cruel, cold, dark and lonely place without you. You burned like a star, and I miss you, o my brother.
With love forever,
Megan
I am alternating between shock, grief, and denial. Part of my brain keeps coughing up trite understatements like "he was too beautiful for this world" and "the brightest stars burn out the fastest." Another part keeps saying the doctors made a mistake, that there's no way this happened. And the rest of me just wants to kick and scream, punch holes through walls, set something on fire to watch it burn and hope the smoke carries my words to you, or an echo of your voice to my ears.
I had a dream last night that I was standing in your hospital room. You sat up and smiled at me and told me I'd been worrying over nothing. Were you telling me goodbye? I woke up, convinced of the dream's reality, only to get the voicemail notification that you were gone.
Scotty-love, I know you're watching me write this. I know you'd never cause anyone deliberate pain. I wonder if you know just how big the hole is that your loss has created. The edges are ragged and burnt, a wound beyond mending, beyond healing.
I remember camping on the beach with you. Drinking cheap wine coolers in my apartment in Mullet Lake, when you complimented the roses on my rug, directly addressing them, then curling up on the foot of my bed to sleep. I remember the hip-check dance we used to do when we fried chicken together at the Dam Site. I remember the night of candy and cheesecake after Eddie dumped me, the way you rushed offstage mid-performance to answer your phone when I called to tell you you had a new nephew. I remember how you choked up when we made you Jonah's godfather. I remember the night we snuck through Bay View in the dark, on foot, for the hell of it, the way we could never find your car when we walked out of WalMart after shopping. I remember the way you always glowed. I told everyone you were my sunshine, and it was true.
I was a fat, bitter, angry girl when I met you. You coaxed me out of that, convinced me to start dressing in something other than oversized tee shirts and baggy cargo pants, made me go shopping with you, refused to let me buy anything other than "girl clothes," and told me I was beautiful so many times I had no choice but to believe you. I could be in the foulest mood, or in the depths of the blackest depression, and the mere fact of your presence would make it a good day again.
Just by being you, you showed me and everyone else in your life the ideal of what a man should be. True, honest, faithful, loyal, an innate talent for seeing and bringing out the best in everyone. You had a trick of texting me at random, somehow sensing something in my life wasn't right. Usually the texts would read "I love you!!" but once, on a particularly rotten day, "I don't know if I've told you this, Meg, but you're one of the best sisters a guy could have. Much love."
You gave me so much, sweetie. Laughter, love, and the courage to be myself. You were as much my brother as if Mom had given birth to you. To hear you sing, to watch you dance was to experience pure joy, to feel my heart soar.
I've been watching your YouTube channel all day, alternating it with "Light and Day" by the Polyphonic Spree, because that song - the feel of it, the joy in the music and the way it soars with ease - has never failed to remind me of you.
You were light and peace, happiness, the sun after the rain, the epitome of light and joy and spirit in its purest form. The world is a cruel, cold, dark and lonely place without you. You burned like a star, and I miss you, o my brother.
With love forever,
Megan
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