I hate May.
Before all this death it was an expensive and chaotic month but for reasons that I loved. Tons of celebrations with my pup’s birthday on the 1st, sister’s on the 4th, mom’s on the 5th, dad’s on the 11th, brother’s finance and two other buddies. Last but not least, who can forget Cinco de Drinko?
It was a constant and happy party. That was until May 5th 2015, my mom’s birthday, when my dog was hit and killed by a car. I still replay every moment of thinking it strange to have gotten a call from a 408 number when in a meeting in my SF office and then begging the woman on the other line, the one who had hit my girl, to not leave her body until I could find someone to pick her up.
I had told my family not to let Layla out without watching her because she was little, would eventually get out of the old beat up fence and get hit by a car. My sister swore she didn’t do it but I don’t know how it would have been possible otherwise. My parents were in Tahoe but our mom had long-since set the precedence of not listening to me. Her excuse later was that Layla was part of the family and I was never there so she had the right to ignore me. From what I remember they never took responsibility nor apologized. There are three sides to every story and I still hope I missed something that will allow me to let it go.
Layla was my everything and it was the worst loss of my life. Even now. Even with the four people I lost in that horrible month of 2017. It was also when I made the decision to go for the lifestyle I am currently living. Losing my fur-baby, I didn’t have any fear left in me. I didn’t care what happened to me.
The current lives lost all impacted me in different ways.
umber of years, and we hadn’t been lovers long, but we had a permanent bond that deserves it’s own blog post. It had an affect on me that messed with my head. Not emotional so much as losing a connection to my body.
The most traumatic loss was a buddy who I had known as not only a close friend for a time, but also a sweet and loving man who had been one of two who saved me when having a grand mal seizure. He also had sat by my hospital bed through that night. Months later, I noticed he acted a little off when I saw him and guessed it was from a bit of trauma from my seizure. Also possibly due to a tiff with my friend, his girlfriend. I had no idea what it really was until he went on a rampage, shooting people and killing one, while waiting for the police to get to him for a police-assisted suicide. He kept my friend on the phone blaming her at the end of it.
Next was an old Vietnam vet bud in Thailand. Just a couple weeks before we had been sitting around for hours with a couple more friends telling stories over drinks. ‘Ol dog had even managed to steal a kiss. Losing him was sad but also beautiful and happy in that he was no longer in the pain of old age. My only regret was planning to record his stories to write the next time I am there instead of doing it then.
At the same time my social media feed was flooding with pictures of his funeral, I got a call that my closest girlfriend in the Bay Area had jumped off the Golden Gate Bridge. To make matters worse, her best friend, a self-absorbed and uber dramatic older woman, thought it a good idea to run her mouth to others who continued passing it on to a large community of whom many (not all, some are rad) love to gossip and find what ever outlet they can to get attention. The multiple messages I was getting from these people within hours of finding out destroyed me. Losing her was the most heartbreaking of all those lost. While I don’t blame myself, I was also the one who understood and saw the signs. My family’s history with mental health made it pretty easy. I didn’t see that she was so far along but I knew those demons well and that they were after her.
Saved by those there for me once finding out but still destroyed a bit by the one who ghosted after telling her in person. Then there’s the people who would never have been expected to be there and were. Thank God for my sister being there in person at the beginning.
I understand that for others, it’s much easier to go into denial and run than face someone who is going through so much all at once. It can also be a trigger and bring out strange reactions from people fighting to be supportive. Relating a little too strongly, my sister (who has been awesome) told me about something horrible that happened to another loved one as well as telling me multiple times about how one of her worse fears has always been that I will commit suicide.
At the beginning of it all I was in shock. I couldn’t handle thinking about it and was threatened by anyone who tried to make me. It wasn’t real yet. Then I got angry. Angry at the world and more than anything, at mental illness. Somewhere stuck between enraged bitch-mode and denial, there were moments like when I almost collapsed on the floor of a grocery store. Unable to cheat the grieving process, I am now just so sad that I can barely function. I pray it will move on quickly and that I can skip the depression stage, but I can already feel it creeping in.
For now, I’ve spent a little time with another friends dealing with the same loss of the most recent and will soon be going to group grief counseling with another friend mentioned earlier. I’m also looking into volunteering in the mental health field and am desperately looking for some pups to snuggle. Two of the only things that have been able to save me in my darkest times in the past.