My cousin Rufus.
He’s the reason I love big dogs. He taught me so much. Taught me how to train dogs. Introduced me to vegetarianism. At the age of nine, I had my first job as his assistant. He professionally trained dogs, taught them to protect, and I was the person to be protected. Just imagine how many German Shepherd bites he took to his bite sleeve while acting like he was going to harm me.
He was a bodyguard in Hollywood in his later years. Celebs posted Instagram pics of him when he passed, talking about how good of a person he was. Trust me, Ne-yo, I know.
Rufus was feeling itchy for a while, and noticed his urine was dark. Those were his only symptoms. Something told the doctors to run a battery of tests on him. I’m glad they did. Because, the results weren’t good.
Bile duct cancer. Rare. Six months to live.
He fought. Those six months, became 18.
July forth, he was ok.
July ninth, in the wee hours of the morning, he passed away peacefully.
No one was expecting it. No one was ready to say goodbye. Especially not me.
And, I didn’t. I couldn’t bring myself to go to his funeral. I know it was selfish. But I just couldn’t do it.
I had my own private talk with him, in which I thanked him for being who he was to the universe, and told him I’d see him later.
Yeah, it hurts. Yeah, I want to cry while writing this. No, he wasn’t perfect, but he was MY cousin. My friend. My gentle giant.
I miss him. We all do.