Dustin Milligan Instagram – On Oct 12, 2018, I started throwing up and couldn’t stop. By the time I got to the hospital, 26 pukes later, the pain was so intense that morphine wasn’t enough to stop it, so they gave me a drug 7x stronger called Dilaudid, and even that only eased the pain for a few hours
8 days 4 blood tests 3 doctors 2 ultrasounds and 1 endoscopy later (and 15lbs lighter) I left the hospital not knowing exactly what caused it, but doctors thought it might be Cannabinoid Hyperemesis Syndrome, which basically means because I smoked/ate/vaped marijuana almost every day for 15 years, my body was tapping out. What I *did* know was the guy lying in that hospital bed wasn’t even the real me
I was (am) a weed addict, but as much as I was addicted to the drug, I was equally addicted to suppressing myself with every hit. Hiding my light. I filled myself with smoke so, in a way, no one could ever see me. So I could never see myself
I stopped using that day. As the smoke cleared over the following months, the real me emerged from the haze, and, particularly through the act of writing, I discovered my voice. A way to shine my light. Wedged against me through it all, or at the very least with a paw always touching me, was Darryl. Touching the me that, despite obscuring it with smoke for so long, he had always seen. Always loved. By my side writing, pushing into my hand for neck massages, stretching his legs like a show-off ballerina during scratches – his touch was, in the most fundamental way, how he said: “I’m here with you”
On Oct 6, 2021, thousands of miles and an ocean away, we got the call that Darryl had died. That night we wandered the streets of London, crying and laughing and wishing we could’ve said goodbye. Comforted him. Touched him one last time. Then, from under a car, a cat appeared, meowing loudly and purposefully trotting right towards us, eagerly pushing its neck into my hand as I offered it, just like Darryl used to. Stretching its legs like a show-off ballerina, just like Darryl used to
We stayed with this un-cat-like cat for a long time, in a strange way getting a chance to say goodbye. A chance for one last touch. A chance for him to say: “I’m here with you” | Posted on 13/Oct/2021 06:10:36
