Reflections, Pt.1
For as long as I can remember, I've thought daily about the last nearly six years and the events that led me to where I am today. In six years, doors closed, my foundation was shaken, and new opportunities and relationships arose.
It was October, 2018 when my cousin died of a heroin overdose. He'd just turned 36 a month prior. His mom was my mother's best friend, so he wasn't blood. But he was family to me more so than 99.9% of my blood cousins. He was also the biggest link to my childhood. And just like that he was gone. My brother was at the wake, being released out of rehab for the day to attend. Keep that in mind.
Two weeks later, I had to put down my cat of eighteen years. She was this beautiful black cat loyal to me like no other cat had previously been. She was my true companion, so I took her with me when I left home. Watching her die in my arms was and still is traumatic, as it was a turning point in my life. I'd gotten her when I was 16, I was now 34, and I truly felt alone for the first time since I was a teenager.
Months later, in April 2019, I finally left a relationship I was never really happy in. It needed to be done and I wonder if my cat being gone fueled my desires to do so, knowing I no longer had anything to lean on and knowing that most landlords don't permit pets. It hurt me to leave her, knowing she was going to be hurt, knowing she gave me a home. But again, it had to be done, I couldn't be irresponsible and pretend anymore.
July 2, 2019. 7:46pm. My father called me as I was cooking a late dinner. He called to tell me my brother had passed away, his body found in a hotel in Manhattan. I later found out from my cousin, who's a police officer (he wasn't at the scene) that he was found with a needle in his arm. He was not yet 33.
Starting a month to the day after I buried my brother, I had a meltdown the likes of which I never experienced before. Something irrelevant triggered it, but the meltdown itself was all about him and the hurt he'd caused my whole life. I called my aunt, whose son had just died nine months before my brother died and she quickly came to my side and stayed with me for two hours. It was here that she offered me the chance to see her grief counselor and make changes in my life, to which I agreed
More to come in another post.
It was October, 2018 when my cousin died of a heroin overdose. He'd just turned 36 a month prior. His mom was my mother's best friend, so he wasn't blood. But he was family to me more so than 99.9% of my blood cousins. He was also the biggest link to my childhood. And just like that he was gone. My brother was at the wake, being released out of rehab for the day to attend. Keep that in mind.
Two weeks later, I had to put down my cat of eighteen years. She was this beautiful black cat loyal to me like no other cat had previously been. She was my true companion, so I took her with me when I left home. Watching her die in my arms was and still is traumatic, as it was a turning point in my life. I'd gotten her when I was 16, I was now 34, and I truly felt alone for the first time since I was a teenager.
Months later, in April 2019, I finally left a relationship I was never really happy in. It needed to be done and I wonder if my cat being gone fueled my desires to do so, knowing I no longer had anything to lean on and knowing that most landlords don't permit pets. It hurt me to leave her, knowing she was going to be hurt, knowing she gave me a home. But again, it had to be done, I couldn't be irresponsible and pretend anymore.
July 2, 2019. 7:46pm. My father called me as I was cooking a late dinner. He called to tell me my brother had passed away, his body found in a hotel in Manhattan. I later found out from my cousin, who's a police officer (he wasn't at the scene) that he was found with a needle in his arm. He was not yet 33.
Starting a month to the day after I buried my brother, I had a meltdown the likes of which I never experienced before. Something irrelevant triggered it, but the meltdown itself was all about him and the hurt he'd caused my whole life. I called my aunt, whose son had just died nine months before my brother died and she quickly came to my side and stayed with me for two hours. It was here that she offered me the chance to see her grief counselor and make changes in my life, to which I agreed
More to come in another post.
