So, today marks four years since the passing of my fiancé.
Sometimes it seems like eons ago, while other days, it feels like just
yesterday. I still think of him often, and he is also one of the reasons why I
don’t drink and hope to go into the field of drug and alcohol counseling. We
did have our fun times, but there were also times that were quite dark. There
were times, such as when we would go to Dave and Buster’s, where I would crack
up when he would win a game and type in his initials…BTK. Being the lover of
serial killers and forensic psychology, that fact alone seemed quite awesome.
We met when I transferred to San Francisco in the spring of 2005.
We were stationed together, and as in most military circumstances, would go out
drinking with the pseudo family. I ended up dating his roommate, which didn’t
last long. Shortly after we started dating, he moved into my place. Although we
had to keep it “hush hush” from work, as dating (or fraternizing) with those
you are stationed with is frowned upon and punishable by non-judicial
punishment (NJP)…it felt right.
Of course, anything (just about) feels right when you are
usually in a drunken state, which we usually were. I was able to do it at
appropriate times, when off from work. The same can’t be said about his habits,
which eventually led to his discharge from the military. This was a major
turning point in our relationship, as we had already decided that I would get
out of the service in order to return to school, and he would remain enlisted.
I had already been accepted into a program and had made plans and filed the
appropriate paperwork to request separation from my enlistment. He ended up
going to rehab (which later I found out was his second time) for a month and
was then discharged from the military, still receiving an honorable separation.
When he left treatment, I took him to our new place…a location
I found out in the middle of nowhere, a place to begin anew. I was able to file
the paperwork to reverse my release from active duty (RELAD) in order to stay
in so we could at least have one paycheck. Things were good for a short while, and
then it became evident that nothing had changed. I tried to convince him to
look for a job or perhaps take some classes, as he still had his GI Bill. But
just like with most things in life, you cannot help someone who doesn’t want to
be helped, and this was the case.
A couple of months after he was discharged, my Grandpa
passed away. That was a rough time, for I didn’t have much support at home, as
our communication had just about ceased to exist. There was a lot of lying,
withholding of information and deceit…commonalities when it comes to alcoholics
and addicts. I know this not only from living with one, but from being one
myself…that will be a whole other entry though. I was away helping my Grandma,
who lives in the remote foothills of California, a couple weeks after my
Grandpa passed. There is no cell phone coverage where she lives, so once I
entered the coverage area, I was able to hear a message from the hospital
asking if I knew a certain individual. I will never forget that conversation.
All they could tell me when I called back was that there had been an accident.
They wouldn’t tell me how severe or what had happened.
I frantically drove back to our house; making phone calls
along the way to our friends…no one had heard a single thing. I didn’t know if
he was conscious, if the accident had happened at home, if I was going to
arrive and find a huge mess and blood inside our living room…basically, I knew
nothing. There were no signs of an accident at home, it looked as if he had
just left and was expecting to return. There was a glass of juice (heavily
spiked with vodka) sitting on the coffee table and everything else looked in
place.
When I went to the hospital, I saw just how bad it really
was. There, on a hospital bed, secluded from the other patients, laid my fiancé,
attached to tubes and different machines, a large bandage on his head, his eyes
taped shut. Just a couple months prior, I had held my Grandpa’s hand as he passed
and now I was being confronted with this sight. His parents were there as well…this was the
first time I had met them, not the conditions under which I had hoped.
The doctors had run many tests, which all indicated that he
would not regain consciousness. They asked his parents and I if we would
authorize terminating life support. That was such a difficult thing to have to
do…followed by the doctor asking if I would agree with donating his organs,
which made it just a bit more real, knowing that he would never be needing them
again. He ended up being cremated and brought back to his home state of Florida
with his family, but not before he was able to help six people via donations.
I didn’t have much time to process the grief, as a month
after his passing, I was transferred to Oregon and had to focus on the move,
cleaning out our house and going through all of his belongings. I found out
more about him by going through his things, the secrets he had been keeping, and
the toxic lifestyle he had been living. I still battle a bit of survivor’s
guilt, as I feel as if I had failed by not being able to save him from himself.
I stopped drinking on my last day of active duty, partially because I was
afraid that the same thing that happened to him would happen to me as well.
I still have the engagement ring, as I am not sure what to
do with it. Many people have said that I will know what the right thing is when
I’m ready…but it’s been four years, and I still don’t know. I did love him
greatly and he taught me a lot, both while he was alive and also when he
passed.
I guess the moral is: life is short, love with all your heart and have
fun while you are here.
**Sorry if this post is a little rambling**
