Goodbye my Love
Robbie,
I’ve tried to write this a few times, but never had the courage to put a pen to
paper. As I write this, I find myself back in treatment. Yep, second time
through in as many years. Loosing you has been harder than anything I
have experienced in my life. Nothing in my life has ever come close to the
pain I experienced as you drew you last breath while I was holding you in
my arms. When I think back on it, it hurts just as badly now as it did in that
moment, I think I have just learned to bare it better now than I did then.
I miss you so much.
You were, and still are my best friend and soul mate. The women that I
was so privileged and blessed to grow up with. Hanging on to each other
with all our friends in Hugs not Drugs, and the KISS clubhouses back home
in Texas, we had a huge family. Learning that life was not just worth living,
that we were blessed in everything we had. Our friends and sponsors, the
program, and each other. Sometimes it felt like we would never make it,
but we did, we survived, then we began to flourish! Life was so fantastic
with you, there just are not words to describe what we had. Life was
exciting and scary all at once, and full of love, for each other and all of our
friends. I so loved getting to experience my soul mate and experience
growing up with you. Those were not just good days, they were magical.
Remember the day we met; we were at a dance at the NA clubhouse KISS
(Keep It Simple Stupid), one of so many. You were so cute hiding behind
your girlfriends, looking so shocked, screaming to be protected from this
guy who fell to his knees and proclaimed his undying love for this goddess
on the dance floor. Little did either of us know just how true that silly guy
was at that moment. To this day I am grateful we met that night. In that
moment both of our lives were change for the better.
It’s been a long time coming, it’s been hard to see past the pain of losing
you, but now I remember: I remember retreats to Lake Whitney, the NA
world convention in San Antonio. Hobbling around on my crutches and
saying the serenity prayer with thousands and thousands of other
recovering addicts. Holding you as you cried about losses in your life, and
being held. I also remember your smile, and the love we shared and
received from each other and all the family we had in the program.
Remember moving up to Oregon; in that 27 foot U-Haul with two cats in the
cab and two dogs in the bed of the truck we were towing, inside their
custom made pickup truck shell. I remember how hard it was for them to
keep their hind quarters behind them due to the tranquilizer they were on
for the trip. They were so cute with their hind quarters swinging from side to
side, never quite able to follow their front quarters. Oh how we laughed.
I remember how the motion of the truck would put you to sleep and make
you want to get in the back of the truck. It was such a mistake to let you do
that right before we hit Los Angeles, you needing to potty so badly, and I
was unable to find anywhere to get you off the freeway to let you go to the
bathroom. It must have taken two hours or more with you complaining over
the walkie-talkie the whole time it wasn’t funny then, but I get a kick out of
thinking about it now.
Then we hit the Redwood Forest because I wanted you to see it, I
remembered the crazy skinny road I had to take, I was so glad you were
asleep, as I would never have heard the end of it had you seen what I was
taking to get out there for you.
Then we found that motel the cop told us not to stay at it, it still makes me
think of the Bates Motel. Then hitting the RV park and pulling in hanging
your blow dryer in the back of the u-haul because you are so cold. You
thought I was crazy didn’t you, but it worked out and you left my hide intact.
You were so pissed off, then so happy when it actually worked.
Vacations to the Redwood Forest, Alaska, Beach trips in the trailer, your
nieces coming up in the summer. I’m so glad we filmed so much of that.
Watching us all be nuts is helping me to heal. It helps to remember the
good times and not just the last year that was so hard for us both.
Then we bought our first house here in Oregon and decided to make our
relationship formal. The we went for the blood tests and found out about
you having HIV and HEP-C. All of a sudden our world seemed to collapse
in around us. It still makes me sad to think about you being convinced I
would leave you. I was devoted to you, I had already made the commitment
to spend the rest of my life with you. It was frustrating that it took another
two years for you to say yes again finally marry me.
I was so blessed to be able to provide you with your fairytale wedding, it
took me three years to pay off that day and like so much else about our
lives, I’d never trade it for anything. When you past on I lost my best friend,
my soulmate. Part of myself was ripped away and went with you, I felt
broken ever since you went home. It’s hard to look past the loss, all the
fear and pain of that last year. All of the falls, the blood, trips to the hospital.
I try to remember the love and laughter we shared. We are blessed that we
did and shared so much before you had to go. I’m grateful to both of our
higher powers for giving us 27 of your 28 years clean together.
It still to this day amazes me the strength and determination you always
displayed facing your fears and diseases. The grace you showed and trust
in your higher power were amazing to witness, I couldn’t have faced it as
beautifully as you did, and in fact I didn’t. You are still the model of
strength that I aspire to be. To this day I still thank God you were so
stubborn, I know it helped you make it as long as you did. Until it your
stubbornness began to work against you.
I don’t remember if I ever told you, but I knew the year before you past that
we would not share another Christmas together. It was so hard knowing
you’re getting ready to leave all of us and had your doctor telling you that
you were fine and doing well.
I’m so glad we finally found Marcia, your original doctor again. I remember
that visit so well. She took one look at you, sat down with you convinced
you of what I had been unable to. That it was time come to terms with the
fact that you didn’t have much time left in this world, that you were dying.
You were hurt, scared and devastated in that moment, but once again, as
devastated you were, your incredible spirit bounded you back. Now you
knew your life was coming to an end, that you were in the last chapter of
your life. You cried for a while, then your beautiful smile returned, you
moved forward with your inherent grace and dignity, once more my girl was
shining. God I so loved your spirit. Nothing could keep you down for long,
not even your imminent death.
Now I have to share the last months, these things are still killing me and I
must get them out.
Your strength and stubbornness turned against you. You were no longer
able to care for your “babies”, the cats and dogs were beyond you. You
hated that you were incapable of doing the simplest of tasks. No matter
what I did you would still get up and do your normal chores and activities.
This is when the falls started, and still you would try to help.
Your dementia was getting so bad, why my 72 hour days were becoming
more and more common. The cameras had to go up so I could keep track
of you while I was working. I remember the week of the second (or was it
the third) 72 hour day in a week when I couldn’t dissuade you from
watering the plants at 3 AM. I was so tired I threw in the towel and went to
bathe, just to come back and find you on the wet ground in the backyard
crying with your shin busted open and bleeding badly from one more fall.
I couldn’t do it alone any longer. I finally threw in the towel and let people
know I could no longer care for you alone any longer. To my relief, you
agreed and Hospice was arranged, yet again your spirt rebelled and you
wouldn’t stay down. This time I found in the kitchen, on the floor in a pool
of blood 4 feet in diameter, with your head in the center of it, and blood
splatter on the cabinets. You a cut in artery in your temple with the lid off a
can of cat food.
Then the last fall, the fall that I knew was going to take you from me. I had
disconnected your bed alarm so I could roll you over to clean your bottom,
then went around the corner for a few seconds to dispose of the waste, that
was enough time for you to make it out of bed and fall, with me still just a
foot to far away to catch you. You landed with all your weight squarely on
your forehead. Resulting in a golf ball sized goose egg, and I suspect
internal damage I couldn’t see.
You didn’t make it easy honey, bless you, I still would take your
stubbornness over you giving up and losing you years earlier.
I miss your strengths, even though you were the sick woman, your strength
kept me going until the end. It was your strength that made it possible for
me to keep my promises to you.
Sometimes I still feel guilty about giving you that last pill. When the nurse
instructed me to, I told her it would kill you. I begged you to let me know,
somehow, if you wanted me give it to you, that you were beyond me, with
one foot already in the other world. I prayed with no direction supplied.
Eventually, I choose to give you the pill. I have to remember I was not
killing you, but helping you move on to be with your higher power. I have to
remember I was following your wishes and fulfilling the promises you
extracted from me. I could’ve hooked up a bag of saline and brought you
back, but you left me no wiggle room on that one. With the strict promise
you would not go through what your sister, Syndi, experienced.
On that last day I really enjoyed reading you all the things your family and
friends were telling you on your Facebook page, I know it was filling you
with love, and knowledge that you were not leaving this world alone, that
each and every one of your friends had you in their hearts that day. It still
amazes me you could tell me so much with a grunt or other sound/s exactly
what you thought. I just wish you had still been there enough to tell me if
you want to me give you that last pill.
I did it baby! I kept all the promises I made to you. I didn’t revive you with
fluids, I made your passing as easy and peaceful as possible. I held you in
my arms, wiping that tear from you eye, as you took your last breath so you
didn’t leave this world alone.
Those promises had a costs. The cost I could not foresee, a big part of me
went with you that day. I felt broken ever since that day. Now and am
trying to rebuild.
I had a dream a few nights ago, you know how I am, I never recall dreams
an hour after waking, but for days now I’ve not been able to shake it.
I was trying to get you admitted to the hospital, but you were not with me,
the next thing I knew I was the one in a hospital bed with doctors and
nurses coming and going. Tommy was curled up on the bed purring and
talking to me and the doctors. His ashes are in with yours as you asked to
have done when you passed.
I think this dream is your way of telling me it’s time to let go and start taking
care of myself. I like to think the Tommy represented you, which I really
don’t know, but have a strong feeling about the first part.
I regret we didn’t have the children we wanted. It would be really nice to
have a part of you still here with me. While the price I paid keeping my
promises to you was so very high, I would pay it again knowing all that I
had received from you and our love. You were the best thing that has ever
happened to me. While I lost part of myself, I gained something as well, I
just don’t yet understand what that something is.
I fear letting you go, I fear forgetting all we shared and what we meant to
each other. I know it’s foolish, but there it is.
How could I ever forget you baby. , how could I ever forget all we were, all
we meant to each other, and the lives we were able to touch on our
journey.
I’ll never forget your indomitable spirit, your capacity accept people,
whoever they may be, as equals. Your smile was beautiful to me the day
you passed as it was on the day met.
As I write this I’m beginning to feel in a new metal in me, some inner
strength or capacity I don’t yet understand, it feels good and right. Daily I
have to remind myself that I begged my higher power to take you home in
those last days. I’ve been so very angry, blaming him for taking you from
me, for ending the magic that was us.
The truth is there was nothing left I could do for you but help you move on
and it hurt so much to watch you suffer those last few days. I begged him to
take you home, I knew he was the only one who could help you then. He
answered my prayers and I must remember that, and be grateful for him
coming to your aid. I know you’re much better off than you were here at the
end.
I love you, I miss you, but I can’t stay here any longer. If I do, I will die. In
the ashes of my loss beats a heart. I’m trying hard to spark that heart into
motion, to collect the ashes and as the Phoenix, be reborn.
I don’t know what tomorrow will bring, but with your blessing in God’s help I
know will be good. Goodbye my love, I will always cherish your memory.
I’ve tried to write this a few times, but never had the courage to put a pen to
paper. As I write this, I find myself back in treatment. Yep, second time
through in as many years. Loosing you has been harder than anything I
have experienced in my life. Nothing in my life has ever come close to the
pain I experienced as you drew you last breath while I was holding you in
my arms. When I think back on it, it hurts just as badly now as it did in that
moment, I think I have just learned to bare it better now than I did then.
I miss you so much.
You were, and still are my best friend and soul mate. The women that I
was so privileged and blessed to grow up with. Hanging on to each other
with all our friends in Hugs not Drugs, and the KISS clubhouses back home
in Texas, we had a huge family. Learning that life was not just worth living,
that we were blessed in everything we had. Our friends and sponsors, the
program, and each other. Sometimes it felt like we would never make it,
but we did, we survived, then we began to flourish! Life was so fantastic
with you, there just are not words to describe what we had. Life was
exciting and scary all at once, and full of love, for each other and all of our
friends. I so loved getting to experience my soul mate and experience
growing up with you. Those were not just good days, they were magical.
Remember the day we met; we were at a dance at the NA clubhouse KISS
(Keep It Simple Stupid), one of so many. You were so cute hiding behind
your girlfriends, looking so shocked, screaming to be protected from this
guy who fell to his knees and proclaimed his undying love for this goddess
on the dance floor. Little did either of us know just how true that silly guy
was at that moment. To this day I am grateful we met that night. In that
moment both of our lives were change for the better.
It’s been a long time coming, it’s been hard to see past the pain of losing
you, but now I remember: I remember retreats to Lake Whitney, the NA
world convention in San Antonio. Hobbling around on my crutches and
saying the serenity prayer with thousands and thousands of other
recovering addicts. Holding you as you cried about losses in your life, and
being held. I also remember your smile, and the love we shared and
received from each other and all the family we had in the program.
Remember moving up to Oregon; in that 27 foot U-Haul with two cats in the
cab and two dogs in the bed of the truck we were towing, inside their
custom made pickup truck shell. I remember how hard it was for them to
keep their hind quarters behind them due to the tranquilizer they were on
for the trip. They were so cute with their hind quarters swinging from side to
side, never quite able to follow their front quarters. Oh how we laughed.
I remember how the motion of the truck would put you to sleep and make
you want to get in the back of the truck. It was such a mistake to let you do
that right before we hit Los Angeles, you needing to potty so badly, and I
was unable to find anywhere to get you off the freeway to let you go to the
bathroom. It must have taken two hours or more with you complaining over
the walkie-talkie the whole time it wasn’t funny then, but I get a kick out of
thinking about it now.
Then we hit the Redwood Forest because I wanted you to see it, I
remembered the crazy skinny road I had to take, I was so glad you were
asleep, as I would never have heard the end of it had you seen what I was
taking to get out there for you.
Then we found that motel the cop told us not to stay at it, it still makes me
think of the Bates Motel. Then hitting the RV park and pulling in hanging
your blow dryer in the back of the u-haul because you are so cold. You
thought I was crazy didn’t you, but it worked out and you left my hide intact.
You were so pissed off, then so happy when it actually worked.
Vacations to the Redwood Forest, Alaska, Beach trips in the trailer, your
nieces coming up in the summer. I’m so glad we filmed so much of that.
Watching us all be nuts is helping me to heal. It helps to remember the
good times and not just the last year that was so hard for us both.
Then we bought our first house here in Oregon and decided to make our
relationship formal. The we went for the blood tests and found out about
you having HIV and HEP-C. All of a sudden our world seemed to collapse
in around us. It still makes me sad to think about you being convinced I
would leave you. I was devoted to you, I had already made the commitment
to spend the rest of my life with you. It was frustrating that it took another
two years for you to say yes again finally marry me.
I was so blessed to be able to provide you with your fairytale wedding, it
took me three years to pay off that day and like so much else about our
lives, I’d never trade it for anything. When you past on I lost my best friend,
my soulmate. Part of myself was ripped away and went with you, I felt
broken ever since you went home. It’s hard to look past the loss, all the
fear and pain of that last year. All of the falls, the blood, trips to the hospital.
I try to remember the love and laughter we shared. We are blessed that we
did and shared so much before you had to go. I’m grateful to both of our
higher powers for giving us 27 of your 28 years clean together.
It still to this day amazes me the strength and determination you always
displayed facing your fears and diseases. The grace you showed and trust
in your higher power were amazing to witness, I couldn’t have faced it as
beautifully as you did, and in fact I didn’t. You are still the model of
strength that I aspire to be. To this day I still thank God you were so
stubborn, I know it helped you make it as long as you did. Until it your
stubbornness began to work against you.
I don’t remember if I ever told you, but I knew the year before you past that
we would not share another Christmas together. It was so hard knowing
you’re getting ready to leave all of us and had your doctor telling you that
you were fine and doing well.
I’m so glad we finally found Marcia, your original doctor again. I remember
that visit so well. She took one look at you, sat down with you convinced
you of what I had been unable to. That it was time come to terms with the
fact that you didn’t have much time left in this world, that you were dying.
You were hurt, scared and devastated in that moment, but once again, as
devastated you were, your incredible spirit bounded you back. Now you
knew your life was coming to an end, that you were in the last chapter of
your life. You cried for a while, then your beautiful smile returned, you
moved forward with your inherent grace and dignity, once more my girl was
shining. God I so loved your spirit. Nothing could keep you down for long,
not even your imminent death.
Now I have to share the last months, these things are still killing me and I
must get them out.
Your strength and stubbornness turned against you. You were no longer
able to care for your “babies”, the cats and dogs were beyond you. You
hated that you were incapable of doing the simplest of tasks. No matter
what I did you would still get up and do your normal chores and activities.
This is when the falls started, and still you would try to help.
Your dementia was getting so bad, why my 72 hour days were becoming
more and more common. The cameras had to go up so I could keep track
of you while I was working. I remember the week of the second (or was it
the third) 72 hour day in a week when I couldn’t dissuade you from
watering the plants at 3 AM. I was so tired I threw in the towel and went to
bathe, just to come back and find you on the wet ground in the backyard
crying with your shin busted open and bleeding badly from one more fall.
I couldn’t do it alone any longer. I finally threw in the towel and let people
know I could no longer care for you alone any longer. To my relief, you
agreed and Hospice was arranged, yet again your spirt rebelled and you
wouldn’t stay down. This time I found in the kitchen, on the floor in a pool
of blood 4 feet in diameter, with your head in the center of it, and blood
splatter on the cabinets. You a cut in artery in your temple with the lid off a
can of cat food.
Then the last fall, the fall that I knew was going to take you from me. I had
disconnected your bed alarm so I could roll you over to clean your bottom,
then went around the corner for a few seconds to dispose of the waste, that
was enough time for you to make it out of bed and fall, with me still just a
foot to far away to catch you. You landed with all your weight squarely on
your forehead. Resulting in a golf ball sized goose egg, and I suspect
internal damage I couldn’t see.
You didn’t make it easy honey, bless you, I still would take your
stubbornness over you giving up and losing you years earlier.
I miss your strengths, even though you were the sick woman, your strength
kept me going until the end. It was your strength that made it possible for
me to keep my promises to you.
Sometimes I still feel guilty about giving you that last pill. When the nurse
instructed me to, I told her it would kill you. I begged you to let me know,
somehow, if you wanted me give it to you, that you were beyond me, with
one foot already in the other world. I prayed with no direction supplied.
Eventually, I choose to give you the pill. I have to remember I was not
killing you, but helping you move on to be with your higher power. I have to
remember I was following your wishes and fulfilling the promises you
extracted from me. I could’ve hooked up a bag of saline and brought you
back, but you left me no wiggle room on that one. With the strict promise
you would not go through what your sister, Syndi, experienced.
On that last day I really enjoyed reading you all the things your family and
friends were telling you on your Facebook page, I know it was filling you
with love, and knowledge that you were not leaving this world alone, that
each and every one of your friends had you in their hearts that day. It still
amazes me you could tell me so much with a grunt or other sound/s exactly
what you thought. I just wish you had still been there enough to tell me if
you want to me give you that last pill.
I did it baby! I kept all the promises I made to you. I didn’t revive you with
fluids, I made your passing as easy and peaceful as possible. I held you in
my arms, wiping that tear from you eye, as you took your last breath so you
didn’t leave this world alone.
Those promises had a costs. The cost I could not foresee, a big part of me
went with you that day. I felt broken ever since that day. Now and am
trying to rebuild.
I had a dream a few nights ago, you know how I am, I never recall dreams
an hour after waking, but for days now I’ve not been able to shake it.
I was trying to get you admitted to the hospital, but you were not with me,
the next thing I knew I was the one in a hospital bed with doctors and
nurses coming and going. Tommy was curled up on the bed purring and
talking to me and the doctors. His ashes are in with yours as you asked to
have done when you passed.
I think this dream is your way of telling me it’s time to let go and start taking
care of myself. I like to think the Tommy represented you, which I really
don’t know, but have a strong feeling about the first part.
I regret we didn’t have the children we wanted. It would be really nice to
have a part of you still here with me. While the price I paid keeping my
promises to you was so very high, I would pay it again knowing all that I
had received from you and our love. You were the best thing that has ever
happened to me. While I lost part of myself, I gained something as well, I
just don’t yet understand what that something is.
I fear letting you go, I fear forgetting all we shared and what we meant to
each other. I know it’s foolish, but there it is.
How could I ever forget you baby. , how could I ever forget all we were, all
we meant to each other, and the lives we were able to touch on our
journey.
I’ll never forget your indomitable spirit, your capacity accept people,
whoever they may be, as equals. Your smile was beautiful to me the day
you passed as it was on the day met.
As I write this I’m beginning to feel in a new metal in me, some inner
strength or capacity I don’t yet understand, it feels good and right. Daily I
have to remind myself that I begged my higher power to take you home in
those last days. I’ve been so very angry, blaming him for taking you from
me, for ending the magic that was us.
The truth is there was nothing left I could do for you but help you move on
and it hurt so much to watch you suffer those last few days. I begged him to
take you home, I knew he was the only one who could help you then. He
answered my prayers and I must remember that, and be grateful for him
coming to your aid. I know you’re much better off than you were here at the
end.
I love you, I miss you, but I can’t stay here any longer. If I do, I will die. In
the ashes of my loss beats a heart. I’m trying hard to spark that heart into
motion, to collect the ashes and as the Phoenix, be reborn.
I don’t know what tomorrow will bring, but with your blessing in God’s help I
know will be good. Goodbye my love, I will always cherish your memory.
Replies