...yet another anniversary

Today marks 8 years since my last significant loss, before the fire.

Hi hi…. to all of my new friends here on substack and beyond. Welp, today it’s Feb. 11, 2025. It was 8 years ago today in 2014 that I got an email from my former sister-in-law that Christian Evans, my second husband had succumbed to bipolar disorder and had taken his life while I was away on a work trip to London. The shock of that news was…. well, shocking and as I reflect on that day, I struggle to remember what those early days felt like. It is a blur. Most of it. Somehow I did manage to get on a plane home to LA, thanks to my bestie Havana who was with me during that trip. Havana did my hair and was my favorite travel buddy. Havana, it turns out, is THE person you want to have by your side when you get that kind of terrible news. She was/and is a total rock in my life. She got me home to Marina Del Rey, slept in my bed with me for the first couple of weeks after his passing. She accompanied me, while I searched the pawn shops of downtown LA, for his lost jewelry, his wedding ring that he had designed, in particular was all I really cared about finding. I was desperate to keep a piece of him.

Have any of you out there ever had to deal with a pawn shop? I hadn’t until that day, It was Valentine’s Day, of all days and I was on scavenger hunt of sorts. A day after they found his body. Through clues that he had given me during our last rendezvous on Feb 7th, and a conversation with a friend, Maureen Hancock, who was a gifted medium, yes, a medium! I was able to piece together where I might find his ring and other things he had pawned. I knew his last address was on 6th St not far from skid roe. We had broken up back in late September for the last time. His last psychotic episode was one our relationship could not survive. I retraced steps from his place and chose the first pawn shop in the vicinity. I was desperate and running on fumes. I remember barreling into that shit hole of a place. The heavyset women at the counter was the furthest thing from warm, all business. I had some cash on me, maybe $2500 or so, not enough it turns out. She also needed the death certificate to prove I was next of kin and that he was in fact, deceased. She wouldn’t confirm or deny that she had his stuff, just that we were short a few hundred dollars. Havana, Bryan, and I were then on the hunt for an ATM so we could find out once and for all, if Christian’s last few belongings were being held against their will. Long story short, after paying the remainder of the pawn bill, she went to the back and returned a minute later with a manilla envelope. I could tell it was filled with a bunch of heavy things… the ring had to be there. I fell to my knees and burst into tears upon holding the envelope. It was heavy and that wedding ring he designed for himself weighed a ton. I screamed and cried as I pulled it out and put it on over my thumb. I got it. We found it.

8 years later… as I reflect on the last giant trauma in my life since the fire, I am happy to share that when escaping my Malibu home, I did manage to take his ring and the few other pieces of his things that were in that pawn shop that day.

So much loss… and still much to be thankful for. Always.

Thank you Christian, for the lessons and the unconditional love.