The End

I knew this day would eventually come. I just didn't expect it to happen so fast. In my mind, I had prepared myself mentally for his death for years. After all, he was on his own private suicide mission.

This is it. It is time for me to start the next chapter of my life. But now what? The last few months have been such a blur. June first started with a trip to the hospital for my husband of 4o plus years.

But before we get into all the gory details, here is a little back story. I met my husband when we were just kids in high school. In fact, I was still just a kid in high school when we decided to get married. No, I wasn't pregnant. We were just young and in love. We thought we had everything all figured out. I had no idea at 18 that the day I said "I Do" meant I would be agreeing to the next 40 years in hell.

I had no crystal ball to reveal my future or the nightmare that was to become my life. It has been four decades of struggle for me. You see, the man I married possessed a hidden secret that even he was unaware of before it was too late.

Neither of us saw it coming. It snuck into our lives like a thief in the night, robbed me of my youth, joy, and any chance of living the life I had once dreamed of.

My husband was an alcoholic and an addict. He did not start off this way. Alcohol and drugs slowly destroyed him inside and out. It took away every ounce of self-respect and dignity he had and most of mine.

When I first began to notice his changes, little did I know it was too late to save him. Though god knows I tried for all of these years. I begged, cried, and threatened every day. But it didn't matter. I was not enough, his children were not enough, and nothing was important enough to make him want to save himself.

I had done enough research on the subject of addiction and alcoholism to know what the result would be. I also knew it would not be pleasant or pretty. Instead, it would be a miserable and painfully slow death.

He started drinking heavily in his early 30s. At first, he enjoyed the buzz. But as time went on, it was not about feeling good. It became about survival for both of us.

You see, he could no longer do with the liquid death. Physically, it was life and death for him at this point. Whether he wanted the alcohol or not, his body now needed it to live.

At 60 years old, the three decades he spent drinking, drugging, and living on his reckless terms caused his body and mind to turn on him. No longer was he able to think for himself or get his body to function well for a man his age.

Instead, he withered away to nothing physically. His mind was that of a man 90 or older. He experienced signs of dementia. He could no longer control his bodily functions; walking was nearly impossible, and when he did, he often fell and needed assistance getting up.

By the time this began to occur, I couldn't leave him. He had no one but me. No one to care for him, no one to depend on. It was just me. Many may think I could have easily walked away and turned my back on him as he had done to me.

But I didn't have it in me to abandon him. I didn't have the heart. So, I stuck it out and did what had to be done. I stood by him for years, and then, in the last months of his life, I sat by him as he wasted away to nothing before succumbing to his death.

Now, it is time for me to move on with my life. Pick everything up at 59 and reinvent myself. It will take some time, but my next chapter is just beginning. I just need to figure out how I want it to read.

To be continued.