#mrdowning

I received such a gorgeous gift recently. The exceptionally talented @wildestdrreams-blog1 binds books, and I was lucky enough that they wanted to bring 'Powerless' in the physical world!

Look at the stars! Such a lovely attention to detail.

This part made me cry good tears. They gathered together each of the little notes I wrote to Mr. Downing to make a dedication section (six and a half pages). It was such an unexpected and incredibly thoughtful inclusion.

It’s now been six months since my beloved soulmate Mr. Downing passed away. A not insignificant part of me wants to simply drift along my bursting trove of our beautiful memories, dive so deep that they’re all I can see, all I can breathe. 

But that would be the most selfish thing I could ever do with my life. So many people love me, are rooting for me; I’ve been given far more grace than most. It’s not that I fear disappointing everyone, it’s that losing myself to the past—giving in—would be to squander so much more hope than fits in my admittedly huge heart. 

I will stumble. I have stumbled. It turns out I can’t stay down for long because of my birth family, chosen family, fandom family. And if it feels impossible, knowing how proud he would be of me gives me that last inch.

My future isn’t as shapeless, now; I’ll be going to grad school in the fall of 2024. It has been a loooong time since I’ve had to pay attention to the academic calendar. 

Me: What do you mean it’s too late to apply for this fall? It's like six months away!!!

In the short-term, I’m going to spend roughly two months in Europe beginning in May. Thus far, the majority of my time will be spent in Germany and Poland, but it’s pretty flexible. Baby Perry can’t quite believe that she finally gets to take the trip she’s been planning since high school.

Which brings me to story time!

Recently, I drove up to Portland to visit Sis Downing; I didn’t want to do it in one day, so I planned to stop in Ashland. The road deities were feeling capricious—I broke down about 150 miles away. But! Mr. Downing had procured AAA Premier for us, which comes with towing of up to 200 miles.

Fast forward to Ashland where my Lyft driver from the repair shop to my hotel dropped me off at the wrong destination. Which was actually nearby … but down a long, muddy road. Thus, Chihuahua Downing and I trudged through the mud with my big-ass suitcase. 

Room was awesome though:

Couldn’t last of course. I left my purse in the Lyft.

Sis: From afar it’s like the part of the movie where everything goes wrong for the protagonist right before something magical happens!

Me: Well, I better go to a casino ‘cause I’m not ready for a Meet-Cute. 

There’s a casino along I-5 between Ashland and Portland. Mr. Downing always said I was painted with magic …

I won $400.

Apparently my muse is writing my life; it’s so much sweeter after it hurts.

Hello, my dear ones--

It's been too long since I've posted (thank you for the gentle reminders). I am beyond blessed that there are whole human beings who I have never met face-to-face who are able to see me, anyway.

July 28, 2024 was the second anniversary of Mr. Downing's passing and I felt a strong pull to spread his ashes on that day, but I also felt like I was being disloyal, in a way. As if accepting he was never, ever coming back was selfish, a failing. I know that's not really true, but I think I did let it make me hide for a bit there.

I've been substitute teaching for the last two months, and there's something about working again--acknowledging in a real way that I have to build a new life, all on my own--that has been too real to write about. But writing is, I fear, who I am. So, I best stand tall.

The picture above was taken after I let my beloved's earthly remains swirl in the ocean. His best friend was with me, and he took that picture. He was really worried I'd be upset that he did, but I'm incredibly grateful. Having that moment captured is so precious, and it never could have happened if I'd known he was photographing me. Being able to see myself against the mighty Pacific, looking alone and connected, is a gift beyond measure. Thank you, A.

I'll try to write more in the next few days, but I'd like this to stand on its own, just like me.

I love you all, I miss you so.

Thank you, lovely soul. I don't know if the '76' means you are also a 1976 baby, but I'm gonna declare us twinsies, just in case.

After Mr. Downing passed, a bunch of folks descended on New Orleans to pack me up and get me back to California because they all wanted someone to be able to keep an eye on me. Most of my beloveds live on the West Coast, so it was solid logic. Four reylos were in their number, which I think says quite a bit about how people show up for each other. Trust, man.

All of that to say, I'm not living in Louisiana any longer, but oh my goodness, how wild is that snow?!

Thank you so very much for checking on me--that feels pretty amazing. I miss you, dearly, too. I hope I'll be able to finish my stories, but I just can't know.

Again, thank you.

Love, love, love,

i’m a new reader of your works, i have just finished powerless and im now reading thwarted. your style of writing appealed to me in so many ways in which others have not. every time i start a new chapter, i always tell my partner about mr.downing, and how i hope we have a relationship such as yours. there was a tumblr post you linked in one of your post-notes, so i clicked it and it was then i learned of mr downings passing. i wanted to share my deepest condolences. in honor of him, my question is, what was mr downings favorite food? (and was it something you cooked or something bought)

with my greatest love and regards,

ava

Hello Ava!

Thank you so much for your kind and generous words. It means a great deal to me that people are still finding my writing. And knowing you read my notes to Mr. Downing and found some meaning in them is such a balm. In a way, it feels like he's still here, that his echos will always be with me. Thank you.

That man adored raw oysters. He could slurp down a dozen while ordering a dozen more. It was one of his favorite things about living in New Orleans. Thank you so much for asking.

Love, love, love,

Long time without an update. I hope you are doing well. Please keep us posted.

Sending you love and hugs

Hello lovely soul. I have been overly quiet, haven't I? I've been navigating a pretty heavy stage of this whole journey--I spread Mr. Downing's ashes and am trying to focus on a future without him. I haven't quite known how to talk about it here, but maybe I should. Thank you for thinking about me and for reaching out. I needed a nudge.

Truly, thank you, beautiful Anon.

Love, rainbows, and glitter,

We all know humanity does this thing where it has to relearn the same lesson over and over again. Just like individuals, it feels like. I've been relearning many things I thought I'd figured out in my 20s. At first it was so discouraging, I'd already done this! Plus, at 47, it is so cringe. Yet, though I'm having to learn things anew, it turns out that each lesson, though the same color, is such a deeper shade.

History repeats itself, duh. And it's easy to fall into despair, that place where everything feels pointless. Why even bother if human beings are just gonna fuck it up again? Experiencing myself making the exact same mistakes from my youth certainly made me wonder if I just wasn't worth the effort.

But then I started to notice that I was understanding myself so much better and that I was practicing. Learning in a whole new way. It's a bit like re-reading a beloved novel. Every time through, you see more and more, it speaks to you differently as you gather more experiences.

What if humanity, as a massive group identity, is like that, too? Yeah, we're repeating the same mistakes, sometimes with a truly grotesque rhyming scheme. The stakes are also about as high as it gets, as opposed to a cossetted widow's therapeutic journey.

Though, I believe we are learning. In the last, I dunno, couple hundred years, we've (I'm speaking of a human average, not all humans) gone from the concept of universal human rights being incomprehensible to something most nations at least acknowledge might be a thing, even if they hate it. That's some pretty significant growth, from a certain point of view.

I was raised without religion, so it's always felt above my pay grade. But I do have faith--deep and abiding. That faith is in humanity. How? you might ask given that the world is on fire, could I possibly believe in us?

I'm going to borrow from western faith traditions here. Those massive medieval cathedrals, that were begun sometimes over a thousand years ago, they took generations to build. The masons who built the foundation knew they would never see the spire, nor the next generation. Or the next. But they did that without even a standard unit of measurement and those soaring monuments to human achievement are still here. That happened because each wave of builders crafted the best bricks they could.

I find my hope in that. I know I'll never see the spire, but I can make the best brick I know how to make so that it supports the next builders.

The spire gets all the attention--not unlike Great Leaders in History--but it needs all those beautiful, mundane bricks to reach for the sky.

I've tried so hard to continue to be Perry, the very best of me, to share the amazing swells of hope I have felt over the last year, because in physical life and online life, I am 100% Auntie.

Sometimes I let a bit of the hard stuff through, the depth of my feelings and thoughts. But I only ever write happy endings, so I always stop at the sunrise. I don't mean I'm misrepresenting my journey, simply that I'm choosing to try to take care of all of our feelings by knowing when to yell 'cut!'

But right now, two weeks away from the first anniversary of Patrick's death, I need you. I need the safety of this beautiful world we've created together.

So please, help me get out of my head, my heart, my fractured soul and ask me anything, anything at all.

I need you.