Leah

Leah and I met the first week of our freshman year at Virginia Commonwealth University in 2002. The commons at VCU was divided into a few areas including “The Underground” and the pool hall. I’m sure the pool hall had an upgraded name as well but for my friends and me it was just where we ended up during every break in between classes. This particular day the friends I knew from high school that also attended the university, were going into the study hall area downstairs. Having nothing else to do for over an hour, I followed the guys downstairs. But as soon as my feet reached the landing I could hear music and pool tables being played. I politely declined the hang out offer I had just received and walked right into the pool hall. And it’s the most cliché thing ever but as soon as I opened the door, there she was. Leah was a curly, brunette whose hair was just as beautiful straightened, thick, luxurious even. There were several things people always noticed about Leah immediately upon meeting.

• 9 out of 10 times you heard her before you saw her. Leah was loud but in a “I have something to say and if you listen, you’ll probably thank me later” kind of way.

• Again, her hair was amazing. But Leah just had this all around natural beauty to her that never required much time in front of a mirror.

• Her ass was a phenomenon. I would later be filled in on Leah’s high school nickname of “Low Rider.” The justification of such being the fact that her torso was taller contributing to the reduction in distance between her ass and the floor.

• And her love of all things art. Leah made art her entire life and earned a place in VCU’s art program while we were there together. On the daily, Leah was equipped with supplies, a sketchpad, pens of every color, and all the pencils.

Our friendship began immediately as we recognized in each other a kindred spirit. Both of us being the type of girl who often had more male friends than female, was honest to a fault, and unafraid to express how we felt or what we thought about something. That first year together was a whirlwind. Making new friends, introducing each other to our high school friends, and spending all of our free time together. At the time I worked at the front desk of a hotel and Leah worked at Uno’s, a restaurant just a couple lights up from the hotel. Whoever got off work first would meet the other one and from there we would go hang out with friends. The parties, the trips, the long talks, and the openness to express ourselves to one another. I was more vulnerable in this friendship than I had ever been with anyone, this fact remains to this day. Over the years Leah and I collected memories together, some of which I will be eternally grateful occurred prior to the obsession of posting every detail of your life on the internet. I have never and will never regret a single memory but the world of social media needs no proof of our adventures, “following the glow” into the bottom, or the night Leah and I decided we wanted to pee outside like guys.

Throughout our friendship we supported each other through relationships, losses, celebrations, engagements, and both of our weddings. There were periods of time where our friendship ebbed and flowed as they often do, but we always made our way back to one another. After a particularly intense break up for her when we were twenty-five, we decided to move in together. It was in this apartment in the west end that our friendship became even stronger, healing through break ups, dating new guys, and her reconnection with a pen pal she met on vacation when she was just 15.

That July, Leah and I toured and signed a lease in a matter of 30 minutes. We built a happy home together in that apartment with her cat Puma. Filled with friends, laughter, watching every episode of “Sex and the City” and staying up until all hours of the night as we were both employed as bartenders. Being night owls had always come naturally for us but this factor was even more dominant given the absence of daytime responsibilities. And the strength of our connection could only have developed from picking each other up when we felt the most broken and filling in all the cracks made by people we thought had cared about us. The years we lived together were Kintsugi for my soul. And Leah’s Floridian pen pal quickly grew into the protector of her heart that helped her forget every distraction she had met before him. This Daytona dreamboat was actually Canadian but vacationed in the same condos that Leah found herself at during a beach trip with a friend, sophomore year of high school. Ten years later, Trevor flew into Richmond and the two of them drove to Florida to spend a week in Daytona again. By the time Leah returned, her and Trevor were exclusive and her fairy tale was finally beginning.

Recently I discovered in therapy that the 18 months Leah and I spent living together were the safest months emotionally of my entire life. Many of us learn throughout our lives that not everyone should be given access to all of our soft places. The parts of us we shield from the harshness of reality, pretend do not exist in the company of red flags, and only your inner circle of family and friends is allowed to see on a particularly confident and secure day. These spaces are kept in the library of your life, in the room you can only access by selecting the correct book, which triggers the shelf to unlatch and pop open a millimeter or two. Leah had visited so many times she could find that book blindfolded, wearing ear plugs, stoned, and after several gin and tonics or Stellas. Leah accepted everything she found, everything I shared, talked it through with me until we figured it out, and gave me the strength to not become complacent and settle for a less-than-best version of myself. I could tell Leah my secrets, she could witness me making choices that weren’t the best, but she never cast me aside. There were several moments in time that Leah thought a different choice would have been better for me and she was never afraid to tell me. Leah’s honesty regarding my choices always came from a place of love and not judgement.

At the end of our lease I was moving in with another friend and Leah was moving to Canada to be with her prince charming in Oakville. I have never cried more saying goodbye to someone in my entire life than that day out front of the home we made together. The apartment balcony that overlooked the pool and smelled of Marlboro menthol lights. The couch that often had a friend waking up on it in the morning. The Christmas cards we kept taped to the wall all year long, the Puma cat rubbing her butt across the carpet like a dog to Leah’s dismay and my amused joy. The giant wolf painting I hung behind my toilet that always elicited ridiculous comments from the dudes that would use the facilities while visiting. The canned Diet Dr. Peppers and Mountain Dews that were always in the fridge because the canned version of sodas are obviously the best soda delivery receptacles. We were both still fine-tuning our cooking skills but believe me, we ate well in this apartment. Turkey and bacon sandwiches, cheese toast, spaghetti with sauce from scratch (thank you very much), garlic bread, Totinos pizza (Supreme of course), Taco Hell, and Uno’s.

Leah moved to Canada in 2011 and I visited her for Halloween that year. That was the visit that I discovered Trevor had a decorative horse head on his mantle. And also the visit that Trevor discovered how quirky my sense of humor is as well as how heavy that horse head feels when it’s in your bed when you wake up. Leah and I visited back and forth over the years that followed, spending time at her parent’s home in Topsail, N.C., Richmond, Niagara Falls and Toronto, Canada. Life became busy for both of us, me going back to school, and Leah finalizing her citizenship in Canada. We continued to maintain our relationship despite the distance and of course always supported each other during low moments. In November of 2015 I lost one of my Great Danes, Luna, and it was absolutely devastating. Luna came into my life in March of 2013 and I lost her suddenly in November. Luna underwent emergency surgery and I attempted bargaining with anyone who would listen: the vets, the vet techs, God, in the hope that she would survive. My last words to Luna were that I loved her more than my ex-husband with whom I was still married to and who was also within earshot. I was surrounded by staff of the emergency veterinary practice crying with me as I said goodbye followed by some awkward chuckles and sideways glances at the man that was second in importance to a beautiful fawn Great Dane. Luna maintained my sanity during the social work program, kept me level-headed throughout my marriage and gave me the strength to carry on even when my mental health symptoms were unbearable. Losing Luna was difficult to survive. I became just a shell of a person and the next year would try to demolish me.

Two months later during a show at the National I received messages from Leah accompanied by a picture of her post surgery as she had just had a portion of a brain tumor removed. Leah had migraines periodically over the years. But when she got a migraine that refused to lift after 3 days she found herself in the emergency room. The months that followed would include researching glioblastomas, discovering the tumor that was invading Leah’s mind was typically diagnosed in Caucasian men in their fifties and sixties, and the average life span after diagnosis was less than a year. Leah and I spoke throughout her chemotherapy treatment that spring and every time she sounded so great, so optimistic, and so upbeat. I didn’t find out how difficult treatment had been in the spring until I flew to Canada in September. Leah called me in August to let me know she had stopped the chemotherapy as her tumor had regrown and she was having brain surgery again. I immediately asked when I could come visit but I was nervous it may be too much as Trevor already had a full house. Leah’s parents had temporarily moved in to help Trevor care for her during treatment and her sister and brother-in-law were also visiting from Boston. After Leah’s surgery she recovered for a couple of days, was released home and I was on a plane the next day. Normally I fly into Rochester and then drive across the border into Canada but miraculously there was a direct flight from Richmond into Toronto. It never occurred to me that the rarity of the flight absolutely was equivalent to a tiny, tiny, 18 person, rough, highly jostling, and turbulent plane. Sarah picked me up from the Toronto airport and 26 minutes later Leah was greeting me at her door… in a wheelchair. I thought I had landed on solid ground about 30 minutes earlier but in just a moment it felt like my heart and the floor had both fallen out.

Every time I had talked to Leah she was so optimistic and still to this day I don’t know if she was trying to protect me or if she didn’t really know how sick she was. I tried not to focus on my fear and sadness for the next week during the hours that Leah was awake. Those hours were filled with the celebrity name game, the telling of old stories, laughing until our stomachs hurt, watching Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt, and as many of the Comedy Central roasts as we could find. We talked about children as neither of us had pursued that adventure yet and Leah tried to convince me that one day I would decide to have a baby. I will cherish every moment I was able to spend with her that week and I’ll be eternally grateful to her husband and family. The last thing Leah said to me before her father drove me to the airport was, “next time I’ll come to you.” Two weeks later I got the call while I was in my flower bed pulling weeds. The entire world lost its sparkle in that moment and I have not been back in a flower bed since.

Day after day blurred into the next until I found myself getting ready for work on the 1 year anniversary of losing Luna. I’ve never been very healthy in my coping with loss and decided that day to pack my schedule with sessions in an attempt to distract myself. I discovered in my last session of the evening that I could be successfully distracted all day and then be smacked in the face with the loss before going home. I was meeting a new client and his parents for the first time that evening and in the last 10 minutes of session I would have to hold back tears twice. The mother was walking me to the door and was telling me about her son’s habit to name common objects including their vehicles. Prior to her minivan the mother reported that the car she drove had been named Leah by their son. While the surprise of hearing her name said to me on the most emotional day since she passed, the mother asked me if I had seen Avenue Q because she thought I would love it. I managed to make it to my car before breaking down in tears and singing one of my favorite songs from the Broadway show… “My girlfriend lives in Canada.” No one in the world will ever convince me of anything other than the fact that my best friend was letting me know she had my Luna with her.

October 4th, 2021 was the fifth anniversary of the worst day of my life. Leah has gifted me with moments over the years where I know in my soul that she’s watching over me. I talk to her weekly, more often than not in the early morning witching hours saved for us night owls. From time to time when my anxiety is getting the best of me I worry I didn’t express to Leah in life how much she meant to me, how she is irreplaceable, or how she’s still the first one I want to share my joys with and lean on for my losses. This April I will finish my tattoo sleeve I dedicated to my family and I can begin on my next piece. A barn owl in flight across my thigh. I hope Leah will go with me when I get that tattoo done too, just like old times.