I lost my boyfriend, Richard, to alcoholism nearly three years ago. I, too, at times wished he'd just succumb to his alcoholism so I could put the hell behind me without feeling the guilt of leaving a sick person to die alone. I don't think having feelings such as these makes you or me awful people. It makes us desperate people--desperate to avoid feeling guilt for a situation that we didn't create, that we couldn't control, and that we couldn't fix. And desperate to save ourselves from further pain and emotional harm.
Before I ended my relationship with Richard it was important for me to believe, truly believe, that I had done everything in my power to help him. That way, I convinced myself, I could avoid feeling guilty for walking away from him when he needed me most.
It took me a while to feel that I had done everything in my power to help Richard, so I probably stayed for longer than I should have. Well, I know I stayed longer than I should have because the stress of staying and watching him self destruct took a serious toll on my health. Three years later I'm still struggling with lingering health problems caused by stress.
About six months to a year before Richard died, my father died of esophageal cancer. The cancer caused esophageal varices and he died two weeks after his diagnosis. My mother and siblings and my daughter and I were in the hospital room when my dad died. I witnessed the bleeding described previously. There was so much blood. And while I was glad that I was at my father's side when he passed away, no one should have to witness an event like that and no human should have to suffer so. And nobody should have to have an image like that imprinted in their mind as the last vision of their loved one.
On the way home from the hospital, I kept saying to my grown daughter, "I can't believe what we just saw. It was like something out of a horror movie." Later that night, my daughter slipped into my room and said, "Mom, can I sleep with you." She was 22 years old.
It was then that I realized that I may have to re-live this nightmare a second time if I didn't end my relationship with Richard. I didn't want to put myself through that a second time. And more importantly, I didn't want my daughter to be put through that again, or worse, to be the one to find Richard if he were to die in our home.
So, I asked him to leave. But that didn't mean I abandoned Richard altogether. I wanted him to know that I still cared about him. That I still loved him. So, after he found himself a small apartment in another city, I called him occasionally. I invited him over to spend weekends with me from time to time when he was able to maintain sobriety. And I invited him to spend holidays with us as well so he wouldn't have to spend them alone.
As his drinking worsened and his health deteriorated further, I limited our phone conversations and rarely invited him back to my home. I knew the end was nearing and was trying my best to protect myself and my daughter from further harm and to prepare myself emotionally for the end. It became clear that the end was near because he was very frail, weak, and confused.
I missed his last phone call. I was out in the garden with my daughter burying our pet rabbit, who had died earlier that day. When I played the message, I could hear the sounds of dishes being washed (or perhaps dropped) in the background, but Richard left no message, even though the message played for several minutes. I figured that he had inadvertently dialed my number, so I deleted the message without playing it to the end.
I didn't know that it would be his last phone. Perhaps he was calling to say goodbye. Perhaps he did accidentally dial my number without knowing. I will never know the answer.
Just as I will never know the answer for you. Each person has to do what they believe is right and each person has to do whatever it takes to be able to go on with their lives without guilt.
I didn't experience much guilt after Richard's death. I knew, deep down in my heart, that I had done absolutely everything in my power to help him. But he didn't want my help. Or anybody else's help. He just wanted to drink. And that is the heartbreak of alcoholism.
I'm glad that I maintained enough contact with Richard after I ended our relationship that he knew absolutely that I loved him. And I'm grateful today that I know that, despite his alcoholism, he absolutely loved me as much as he could.
Today my daughter and I are happy and we are at peace. Richard is finally at peace, too. And I thank God for that because he suffered so. Alcoholism is a terrible disease. Welcome to the forum.