Being nocturnal again...
And here I am, sitting up in the middle of the night. Awesome sauce.
Dawn and I drove to North Carolina to Brooks' wake; I was the first person to sign a memorial photo frame and was honored to do so. I'll actually have more details about it in the near future.
Right now, though, I'm lying in bed in a hotel with a sore throat and a slight headache. My nose is raw from blowing it, my throat is raw from running the wall-heater all night and lying next to it... I need something to coat my throat. I'd even settle for Starburst candy, right now. I don't care, I just want the pain to stop.
After figuring out that the heater's strong, dry air current was finishing what my allergies started, I promptly turned the damn thing off. Keep in mind, though, I love heat. So trust me when I tell you that my throat is in some serious pain for me to sacrifice consistent heat flow. No, really, I seriously LOVE heat. It makes me relax, stretch out, sleepy, etc.
I took photographs at the wake and I was given the extreme privilege of reading Brooks' suicide note. It was simple, eloquent and to the point. He said that living in a nightmare forced him to become a dreamer and that he wanted people to just know he was only leaving to go and be with his dreams.
He ended by asking a simple question: "Ironic, isn't it?" No one could be sure as to his exact meaning by this...
Both of his biological parents attended. The family turn out was wild; I lost count of how many people showed up. Alan showed up. People close to Brooks knew Alan and how significant his presence really was.
Rukus, Rufus, Rue, Rukusu Kitsune, Brooks... may you find your dreams, man. May you become apart of that which is the 'stuff that dreams are made of' and may you enjoy it.
And, here I sit, at a hotel north of Raleigh, unable to swallow or breathe or sleep. BLAH. But I wouldn't change a thing from today. I'd do it all over again. Unless, of course, I could trade today's memories in for having back my friend.
Dawn and I drove to North Carolina to Brooks' wake; I was the first person to sign a memorial photo frame and was honored to do so. I'll actually have more details about it in the near future.
Right now, though, I'm lying in bed in a hotel with a sore throat and a slight headache. My nose is raw from blowing it, my throat is raw from running the wall-heater all night and lying next to it... I need something to coat my throat. I'd even settle for Starburst candy, right now. I don't care, I just want the pain to stop.
After figuring out that the heater's strong, dry air current was finishing what my allergies started, I promptly turned the damn thing off. Keep in mind, though, I love heat. So trust me when I tell you that my throat is in some serious pain for me to sacrifice consistent heat flow. No, really, I seriously LOVE heat. It makes me relax, stretch out, sleepy, etc.
I took photographs at the wake and I was given the extreme privilege of reading Brooks' suicide note. It was simple, eloquent and to the point. He said that living in a nightmare forced him to become a dreamer and that he wanted people to just know he was only leaving to go and be with his dreams.
He ended by asking a simple question: "Ironic, isn't it?" No one could be sure as to his exact meaning by this...
Both of his biological parents attended. The family turn out was wild; I lost count of how many people showed up. Alan showed up. People close to Brooks knew Alan and how significant his presence really was.
Rukus, Rufus, Rue, Rukusu Kitsune, Brooks... may you find your dreams, man. May you become apart of that which is the 'stuff that dreams are made of' and may you enjoy it.
And, here I sit, at a hotel north of Raleigh, unable to swallow or breathe or sleep. BLAH. But I wouldn't change a thing from today. I'd do it all over again. Unless, of course, I could trade today's memories in for having back my friend.