Dark Side of this June

June is never my favorite month. Between excessive heat, an overabundance of family birthdays, and other seasonal obligations, I’m forced to trudge through each sun-saturated day. I’ll spare the details on why these create a challenge. Just know that none are why I struggled through this June more than most others. In fact, this year, I endured significant pains that highlight the pettiness of my usual anti-June blues.

My mother used to be a tiny, ferocious woman. “Though she be but little, she is fierce.” Without a doubt. This past year, her health suffered drastic deterioration and, mid-June, she underwent her first of many surgeries to treat her ailments.

This situation drained her dignity. Her functional brain is trapped in a dysfunctional body. Seeing the strong force known as Mom in this helpless state dented my Invulnerability. (Capitalized because I’m a nerd who uses the term as a superpower.) There is absolutely nothing I can do to make her better. No way for me to fix her or even improve her mood. I’m too young for this situation. So is she. But tragedy defies age expectations. Let’s hope Mom defies the odds.

June marked other unwelcome news. My favorite writing mentor, a dear friend and the greatest influencer of my creative growth, announced an out-of-state move. Wasn’t his call. Couldn’t be helped. That didn’t change that it sucked. 

As an author and actress, I invite rejection daily. Creative pursuits are full of peaks and valleys. My intuitive mentor lifted my writing during the highs and helped keep me afloat during the lows. I assumed he’d always be around to help me improve. My artistic journey is forever altered. The void is vast. Now, I can only try to guide others, as he did for so many Las Vegas writers. His legacy remains; I am honored to be part of it.

The last sadness I’ll share hit me hardest. My best friend in the world, my confidant, my treasured gardener, my rock, landed a new job in another state. He’d soured on Las Vegas months ago, regrouped, and then searched for opportunity elsewhere. Being the star that he is, he found another job right away.

Parents age, mentors move, but friendships, true friendships, last forever. And we’ll always be friends, but his absence changes a lot. No more movie marathons. No more drive-by hugs. No more fun, leisurely conversations free from agenda or purpose. Now we can discuss movies but not share a look during key scenes. We can send a kind thought over text but not comfort with a warm embrace. And our phone conversations will have to cover only the most vital of what we’ve missed in each other’s lives. No time for anything more.

I dreaded each day leading up to his move and bawled like a baby when he left. What made this loss worse is the way some people reacted to my sadness. 

“You can always call him.”

“Why’s this such a big deal?”

“It’s not like he died.”

Comments like these deepen the wound. Just because you don’t understand someone’s pain does not mean you should dismiss it. I lost a soul mate, a piece of my heart—much more than a friend. For those of you familiar with my writing, picture Sasha without her Jake. The story isn’t the same. And my life will never be either. 

And to be fair, this month helped me sort real friends from false acquaintances. When you truly open yourself to creative energies, closing off your emotions is a challenge. Most of the month, I wore my misery on my sleeve. Yet, for every emotional critic chastising my grief, an unexpected ally offered solace. Despite my loneliness, I did not suffer alone. Light friendships strengthened. Fake ones disappeared. My inner circle fortified. 

June-hater or not, I’m stronger than I was at the end of May.