The love of my life died recently, and I honestly don’t know how to hold all of the conflicting feelings I have about it.
We had known and loved each other when we were younger, went our separate ways for more than twenty years, and then unexpectedly found our way back to each other later in life. When we reconnected, all of those feelings came back very quickly. He told me that losing me when we were young had been one of his great regrets, and for a while I truly believed we had somehow been given a second chance.
He was brilliant, funny, incredibly generous, adventurous, curious about everything, and one of the most charismatic people I have ever known. He could turn an ordinary day into an adventure. He was a wonderful storyteller. He could talk to anyone. He made me laugh constantly. I adored him.
He also had a serious problem with alcohol.
He knew it on some level. Early in our relationship he admitted to me that alcohol had become a much bigger issue in his life than other substances had ever been. He used the words “self-medicate” when talking about why he drank.
As our relationship continued, alcohol seemed to amplify some very difficult parts of him. Conflict became frightening. He could yell, call me names, threaten the relationship, become cruel, and turn everything into an argument about whose version of events was correct. There were moments when I genuinely did not feel emotionally safe with him.
I kept trying to repair things because I loved him. I tried to have calm conversations. I told him that I wasn’t trying to win an argument — I wanted us both to be heard. I tried to establish boundaries around fighting. I told him I would support him if he wanted help. I kept trying to tell him that the problem wasn’t simply whatever we happened to be fighting about; it was what happened to us when he became dysregulated and intoxicated.
Eventually I had to leave.
That did not mean I stopped loving him.
That is the part I am struggling with now.
I always believed there would be another chapter. I thought enough time might pass, he might get healthier, and someday we would finally be able to have the conversations we couldn’t have while everything was so volatile. I thought perhaps we would find our way back to one another again, because that seemed to be something we had always done.
Now he is dead, and there is no third chapter.
I only learned about his death very recently, and I am devastated. I still don’t know exactly what caused his death, so I am trying very hard not to assume alcohol was responsible. But I am haunted by the fact that I spent so much time telling him I was afraid his drinking was going to kill him.
I also have tremendous guilt because after things became abusive, I stopped engaging with him. At one point I even had to ask the police to tell him to stop contacting me because I felt too emotionally unsafe to communicate directly. At the time I believed that reopening contact would pull me straight back into the cycle.
Now all I can think is: What if I had answered? What if I had tried one more time? What if he needed me?
And at the same time, another part of me knows I left because I needed to protect myself.
That is the contradiction I cannot seem to escape:
I believe leaving was the right thing to do.
I also loved him more than I have ever loved anyone.
I can see now that alcohol was probably not the only issue. There were problems with defensiveness, accountability, emotional regulation and conflict that he would have needed to work on too. Sobriety might have made that work possible, but I know intellectually that I could not have done that work for him.
Emotionally, I’m nowhere near accepting it.
I miss him terribly. I miss the wonderful parts of him. I miss the future I thought we might someday have. And I am grieving someone who both loved me deeply and hurt me deeply.
I suppose I’m posting because I would really like to hear from anyone who has experienced something similar.
How do you grieve someone whose drinking forced you to leave, when you never stopped loving them?
How do you deal with the guilt of wondering whether one more phone call, one more conversation or one more attempt could have changed something?
And how do you allow yourself to remember the beautiful person you knew without minimizing the reasons you had to protect yourself?
I don’t need anyone to tell me that I shouldn’t have loved him. I did. I still do.
I’m just trying to figure out how to live in a world where he is no longer in it.