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I want to relay the events of last Wednesday to you because I’m not sure you are all aware of the details surrounding Stinkfinger’s death. Maybe in my writing this out, it will lessen the constant replay of that day going on in my head. And in writing it out to all of you, I won’t feel that I need to explain it all over and over again. We had enjoyed a few days at Worldmark resort in Indio with grandkids. Lots of pool time, a drag brunch in Palm Springs, barbeques, fun, fun, fun. We planned to begin early on Wednesday to try out a new trail we discovered close to the resort. I was thinking of starting at 9—by the time we actually got to the trailhead, it was 10. We hiked for an hour through the desert and Map My Walk said we’d gone one mile. Yikes. I guess it was the heat and walking through the sand that slowed us down. After hiking another hour, around noon, we were clambering over rocks to get to a high point and the sun was unbearable. Our one bottle of water was over halfway gone. We decided to turn around and follow the trail markers backwards to return to the start. That’s harder than it sounds. We ended up off trail and just headed down off the rocks to the desert floor. Once there, we “thought”we knew which way to head. It turns out we were wrong. We trudged along the desert (no trees, no shade). I was feeling unwell—-chills, nausea and I could not go up another hill, so I headed off toward an area that looked less hilly. Stinky stayed on the original path but then headed toward where I was. I really don’t know how we actually got separated. I think we were both getting a little foggy in the head from the heat. It was 105 that day. I felt like I couldn’t go any farther so I sat down. No sign of Stinky. I dialed 911. It took about 30 minutes for a helicopter to find me and fly me out to a waiting police car. The helicopter turned around to search for Stinkfinger. It took a few hours before they found him, face down on the desert floor. He had abrasions on his face and knees. The coroner said it looked like he just went down and was out. There will be an autopsy tomorrow to verify cause of death but the coroner is pretty sure it will be heat stroke. Stinky was not one to quit and I can imagine he was out there walking along thinking how fucking hot it was and then he just wasn’t walking anymore. He was gone. I miss him terribly.
I wonder if other people have the very uncomfortable feeling of coming home, from a walk, or the store, or from coffee with a friend, and the house, of course, is empty. I’ve been calling out, “Michael, I’m home” because it feels right to do that, but then when I think it through (that he really is not here), I get that wave of painful grief that stops me and overwhelms me and I think I will drown. It’s like dreading something that you know will happen at least once an hour, like dreading the dentist’s drill or a blood test. Painful. Scary. I want that feeling to go away. I don’t think I can live with it for the next twenty years.
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