I got my first snake around the beginning of May of this year from my roommate's girlfriend when she moved out. He was a normal baby ball, about a foot long. I've wanted a snake to call my own for as long as I can remember. I continued to take care of him (I actually don't know what gender it was) like normal. I didn't handle him too often, but he wouldn't eat. A few days before his death he started acting weird. He used to spend most of his time under his little half-log tunnel but he started spending his time out in the open or around his bush. Then one morning I opened up his cage to handle him and he was just dead.
I'm pretty tough mentally. I can take a lot more mental abuse than the average man. But this hit me like a ton of bricks. I don't remember the last time I cried my eyes out like that. My apartment is half underground and the windows are at ground-level. I buried him right outside my bedroom window.