It's funny, in a horrible sort of way. A little over a year ago, I cleared off a journal about F-List and such, and talked about how life hasn't really been kind to me, but someone in particular was.

 forest-wolf

I said in that journal that he was basically the best furry ever, and didn't expound upon that.

Forest passed away yesterday, hence my upload at that time. I'm going to talk a little bit about him now, because I couldn't then, and I keep crying today but I have to talk about it.

I met Forest something like ten years ago. I know this because that's the "created" date on the first image he ever drew for me. It had to be around then, probably a little further. We'd spoken on Skype for years, before I finally swapped over to Discord.

We would chat constantly about things. It wasn't always about the fetishy stuff. Sometimes we just...talked about life. About how things were going.

At one point, he was struggling with a decision. He was looking at the possibility of a new job. One that had a better commute, and much better pay, but he was worried about leaving his current place of business. I told him to take the opportunity. To do something different, to really make a jump and go for it, and he did.

What wound up happening was, Forest ended up making a LOT more money. And with that, he turned around and put it into the community at large. He helped out everybody he could, was gregarious with his money. He offered a lot of it to me at times...I never really took him up on it. I could've used it, but I was encouraging /him/ to make that money, because he needed it. He was taking care of his dad in his poor health, he needed a new car...and then he was helping people who were in tough spots, rough binds, difficult places.

My boyfriend of many years, behind my back, talked to Forest. I'm typing to you from a PC he helped put together and build. And that's not all he did for me. I mentioned in that previous journal that we have a living space thanks to him. And...we do. A little over a year ago, I was basically lied to by my company and I'm not making as much as I was promised I would. I was struggling with finding a place to live here in Washington. Forest didn't have room in his house for the two of us, and I completely understood, but we were running out of time to find an apartment near us that we could afford to live in. I'm making most of the money in the house. That's...rough nowadays.

Forest signed our lease as a co-signer.

Forest literally put a roof over my head, and kept me sane and safe. I've been living without any roommates save my boyfriend for the past year, thanks to Forest. I've moved seven times in the past ten years thanks to so many roommate situations that didn't work out; some of them due to awful people, most of them due to just bad timing and poor coincidence. Forest insisted he was paying me back for helping him make a decision that made his life better.

I don't know if I did all that. But I do know that it mattered. We'd chat. Sometimes late at night, or so early in the morning it was still late for him. I would pebble him, send him funny little memes. I talked with him about kinks, and we swapped brainstorming sessions about scenes, scenarios, characters, interactions. I coaxed him to explore those interests; never in a way that was making him embrace it, never in a way that was demanding, and he found he loved indulging it some, even if he couldn't bring himself to do so as publicly as he'd like. We talked for hours and hours.

Sometimes he would apologize, because I know I'm not the only one who'd chat with him. He had dozens of friends, if not hundreds, all of whom wanted his time, all of whom valued his input. For good reason; he had excellent taste, a wonderful sense of humor, a fantastic way of designing things. Sometimes it'd get to be too much. I'd always tell him, he doesn't have to worry about not talking to me all the time. Sometimes he needs a break, and that's okay. But...he'd still message me from time to time, instead of needing me to. And that mattered a lot to me, whenever he would.

He'd talk about dreams he'd had. Thoughts. He dreamed about sleeping with Murdock. Not necessarily having sex with him, just...he'd dream that he'd woken up in bed, under the covers, and there he was, sleeping too. He'd wrap his arms around the mog and get snuggled back into. That warmed my heart, so, so much. Nobody had ever told me they'd dreamed about my characters, that they'd occupied their mind so much their brain would have them interact in dreamland.

We played games together. Deep Rock Galactic, some other co-op stuff...I got him into Vermintide and eventually Darktide. We laughed as we played co-op games; sometimes we'd get wrecked, sometimes we'd do the wrecking. I'd explain the lore of the games, and talk about them, but despite their grimdark tendencies I'd always try to tell jokes and laugh about them. We were looking forward to playing Space Marine together. I wanted to play a Salamander with him. I figure he'd go with Space Wolves, but...knowing him he'd probably make a custom chapter too.

He's done so much for me over the years. When I got the news I was...numb. Stunned. I drove home in a fugue state, unable to think straight. I kept having to stop thinking about him, about what I had to face, because I'd start crying and it'd be unsafe to drive. I've been crying off and on since I got home yesterday, took today off to try to grieve some.

I realized, though, on that drive home that...I didn't have a single thought of self-loathing, no unbidden thoughts at all. It was like...like his hand was on my shoulder. Telling me I had to do good in the world now, because he couldn't. I'm not a religious person, I don't...I don't fall in with that stuff anymore. But that's what it felt like.

I didn't drink a drop of alcohol, either. Didn't even think to stop by the store and grab any. It wasn't what he would've wanted, not from me in particular. Some people, that's how they can deal. But not me, not anymore.

If I could get through losing him without drinking...I know I can keep up that streak.

Even losing you has you doing me a favor, wuff. How the hell are you this good at being good to people?

I've reached out to some of his friends that I'd known tangentially. Some of whom I had only recently started chatting with. I hope to start chatting much more often. If they were friends with him, they're worth it. I have to hope I can be worth it too.

I have to do better. I have to be better. For him, for all of us. There's so much slack in the way of doing right by everybody, now that he's gone. We all have to help out. But it won't start until we all help out. It starts with us. It starts with me. It has to. Otherwise, there wouldn't be any point.

I keep typing about him like it's in the present tense. I'm reminded of Carlin on the set of Dogma, unable to remove his wife's wedding ring, so they put a band-aid over it for his role as a cardinal. I don't want to take the band-aid off. I don't want it to be real.

I fully expected him to outlive me, you know. I've started to notice a decline in my health this year. It's to be expected, I'm thirty-five. I used to drink like a fish; I've stopped, for years now, but it's still going to have its toll. I genuinely figured with how much he worked out, kept in shape...I thought he'd be here long after I was.

I told him in a conversation a few months ago about how I was feeling about that. I told him...I told him if anything happened to me. I wanted him to have Murdock. I wanted him to use him, for MouseCakes, for projects, for artwork...he'd dreamed about Murdock, he loved him so much. Of course he deserved to own him.

And now he's gone. And I'm still here. And I don't feel like I should be. I wish he as here instead. But he's not.

I miss you, wuff. I miss you so bad.

Crying again.

I'll cut it here, then.

Just...be good to each other, people. Please. We need more of it now that he's not here to hold that weight up for us.