There are times in life when words fail us. That, no matter how hard we try, our minds simply cannot form words to express what are emotions bring up in us. I recently had this happen to me
I recently met my good gaming friend Eric for a game of 40k. I was playing another game with my Alpha Legion, and thrilled to be taking on his Dark Eldar (he wiped the floor with me, as a side note). I open my case, and begin to take out my models. I open the case…
And my chaos lord is missing. I cut out a spot for him, made sure every corner was coddled in a loving way. He was simply not there. I scanned the entire shop, up and down, every corner, nook, and cranny. I asked to inspect other players’ anuses. Denied. I now had a store full of suspects.
For all intents and purposes, he was gone. I felt wronged, grossly wronged. As it turns out, psychologists have a set of steps that chart the way this made me feel. They call it the seven stages of coping.
Stage One: Shock
Shocked, I was. In disbelief, I was. Yoda speaking, I did. My world was tossed asunder. Nothing made sense. For all I knew, cats had stolen my model and were now using it as a scratch post, possibly summoning daemons into the world. Who knew! I didn’t. I frantically texted my wife, asking her to scour the house. I questioned every person who walked in the door. I learned that Milli Vanilli lip synced.
Stage Two: Denial
No, there’s no way this could happen. No way. I’m so downright anal with my models. I open their case just to see if they’ve shifted in bad ways. I bought a display case simply to show them off to absolutely no one that comes over. There’s no way he could be gone.
Stage Three: Bargaining
I consider myself a believer, and as such, I prayed to the God of my ancestors. And for good measure, I prayed to all the others too. I even Googled deities to cut a deal with. I had a hush hush talk with the Chicago Mafia. Communed with Al Capone’s ghost. Hell, he’s still haunting my apartment. It didn’t work. Now I’m poltergeisted like a mother effer.
Stage Four: Guilt
My God, it’s all my fault, isn’t it? I shouldn’t have used some Space Marine bits to make him. I shouldn’t have left him alone so many nights. He probably watched me make sweet sweet love to my wife and cursed me for not giving him, erm, equipment. It was all my fault. *cries*
Stage Five: Anger
Stage Six: Depression
Whyyyyyyyyyyyyyy. I just don’t get it. I did everything I could do to get him back. Now I can’t pick my head up out of the ice cream tub. Colors have no color. Tastes, all of cardboard. I was Honey Boo Boo; a complete wreck, and all because of someone else.
But there was light at the end of the tunnel.
Stage Seven: Acceptance
After about 24 hours since his disappearance, I decided it was time to move on. After all, I was breathing, and I had friends. Kind of. They all know me as Onshava, but they’re in a list titled “Friends”, so it counts. I could always build another. There would be another dawn. And I would see it.
In case you’re wondering, I found the model in my back left jean pocket. Kidding. He’s missing like Jimmy Hoffa. I know not if I’ll ever see him again, but I’ll always cherish the time I spent with him. R.I.P. Alpharius.
I’m now working on my new chaos lord and filling my life with shiny things to distract me from the pain. Come with me, and I shall show you. Let’s go on an adventure.
This is my living room. Well, at least it’s my living room for the next few weeks. We’re moving to Edgewater shortly. I decided I needed some actual work space. After all, I do work from home once a week (one of the perks of being a writer), and I do a fair amount of painting/modeling. The dining room table just isn’t cutting it any more. Thus, I purchased this desk.
To ensure it didn’t disappear like my *sniffle* beloved chaos lord, I have set guards to keep an eye on it 24/7.
Here are the green stuffededed bits. They should be dry about now, so I’ll be basing them black shortly. I hope to have the guy completely finished by Saturday, so that he may take to the battlefield to avenge his lost brother (my local GW shop is hosting mega battles every weekend this month). I’ll certainly keep you updated, if you’d like. I contemplated building him exactly like the model I previously made, but I felt that would be a dishonor to him. Instead, I decided I would make changes. Violent changes. Maybe that’ll give future thieveses (I suspect hobbits…Smeagol had it right all along) pause before pocketing my crap, son!
One major problem I hit was that I didn’t have base suitable for the model. I order all my bases from a fantastic site called Fantascape.com. Truly masterful work. I’m rather impatient with creating bases, and his products are top notch. Unfortunately, I simply didn’t have time to wait for a shipment from the U.K. And I’m not superman. At least not yet. Sadly, I had to make my own. Using the basic design from my other models, I came up with this.
I know it’s not perfect, but it’ll have to do.
Now we come to the end of our tale. I have moved on from my harrowing experience. I’m a little wiser, a little more sad, but filled with hope for the future. I know that, with the love of my supposed friends and wife, I’ll move on. One day at a time.
Oh, ever wondered what my lovely wife was doing throughout my grief?
To Do: Cope with Loss
P.S. For all of our younger readers, I have linked Wikipedia articles explaining some of the jokes.
To Do: Inform the Kiddies