Blackfish.

I can still remember when I heard the news, just as clear as if it had happened today. I was in my car headed back to the office, sitting at the intersection of Garden Highway and Del Paso Blvd. The light-rail had just run through, so it meant that I had to sit at the stoplight for a second time round. I can still hear the DJ mutter..."in case you haven't heard the breaking news, a trainer was killed at Sea World today..."

My first trip to Sea World was somewhere between the age of five and six years old. I don't remember much of the trip, other than coming home and making the decision that I wanted to train killer whales. I was enamored by the power and beauty of a creature that seemed to be so in tune with the people swimming around in the water with them. Could there be an job in the world more exciting than climbing in a pool with a giant animal that would throw you into the air then pick you back up and surf with you...it seemed magical. For most of my awkward childhood, all I wanted to do or talk about revolved around marine mammals; killer whales to be exact. I watched movies. I read books. I created family genograms, for the whales. I created files. I drew pictures. I found every fathomable way to go to Sea World. I learned the whales names. I learned the trainers names. I covered my room with their pictures. I wrote my college entrance essay relating all of my strongest qualities to those in each of the killer whales I would one day train. For I knew, with every fiber in my being, that some day I would dive into those icy waters at Shamu Stadium and one of God's most amazing creatures would take me for the ride of my life. People made fun of me. They mocked me. They cracked jokes about Sea World. And killer whales trainers. But I was unmoved. I was relentless. I left for UC Davis with every intention of getting my degree in Animal Science and then heading straight for San Diego.

But somewhere in those four years...things started to become, questionable. Then just wrong. Calves were being separated from their mothers. Whales were being moved to aquariums where they lived by themselves. Females were rejecting their calves. Whales were injuring themselves. None of it felt right. I knew from my years of research that this was not how it was supposed to be.

Killer whales are one of the most intelligent species on this planet; sometimes, I think they outsmart us. They live with their families for the duration of their lives, in peaceful communities that have unique languages (and dialects), styles of hunting, and ways of traveling. The mothers care for their calves for upwards of five to seven to even ten years...teaching them how to hunt, how to speak, and how to survive. When a female has her first calf (and each one thereafter), her mother is there to guide her through the whole process...as if coaching her through the labor, delivery, first breath, and newborn care. A calf will remain with it's mother for the rest of it's life. This is how killer whales exist.

Thus, I made the heart-wrenching decision to not pursue training any farther. It was a devastating thought; these whales that I grew up with, that I know by name and personality, would never be an tangible reality for me. As the years have gone on, I have grown exceptionally frustrated with the decisions Sea World continues to make regarding the care of their whales. But I can't stop going. I justify the wrongs that I know exist with the fact that the trainers would, and have, given their very life for the well being and care of those animals. And, quite honestly, I can't stand the thought of never seeing Corky face to face again...

Or seeing Nakai's (and Kalia, thanks to her big brother) goofy antics.

Or any other number of whales that I have become fond of over the years.

It seems so selfish...and I guess it really is, but at this point, I don't know how to right the wrong. But I do know something has to change. Gabriela Cowperthwaite directed an amazing documentary known now to the world as 'Blackfish the Movie.'

It reminded me of Dawn, and that horrific day, once again. I'm not a trainer, but the wound still cuts deep. People still crack jokes, or attempt to make light of the situation; for the first six months after it happened, I'd get angry, but now it just makes me sad. Sad that they don't get it. Sad that there's still no real answers. And sad that we've broken something that we're refusing to fix.

I don't know what the answers are...should killer whales be captive, or should we release them. I have lots of fears both ways, as do many others. But it's time to stop justifying our decisions--that we've evolved so far in our care of these amazing animals, and we keep them for the great benefits of conservation...as much I love those whales, I know they are a pay-check. A cash flow. A corporate chess-piece. And they are paying for it with their lives and their families. I've never been a proponent for 'freeing the whales'...but can't pretend that everything is okay either. People have been arrested, fined, and/or imprisoned for far less in the care of their personal pets.

I almost can't even believe I'm typing this. I feel like some crazed PETA activist calling for equality and rights of animals (not that there's anything wrong with PETA, it's just a little extremist for me at times), which seems kind of silly given the climate of so many other things in our world. But I have to process what I am feeling, I need to get it out of me, no matter how silly or strange it seems to people. Silence has been my sin, and I will not longer pretend as though I don't have feelings on the matter.

Because I remember that day as clearly as if it were today...not just because a trainer died, but because a piece of me died that day too...leaving anything which used to mean everything, tainted. 'Blackfish the Movie' reminded me that just because something is tainted, doesn't mean it's finished. There's still work to do. And we owe Dawn, and the whales she lived to love, the honor of doing right by them...and not stopping until we figure out what that is, and then see it to completion.

Deeply missed and eternally loved.