The Day He Died, part 1

I've been itching to tell this story for quite some time. Not sure why. Especially not sure why now. It's not his birthday (that's in April) and it's not the anniversary of his death (that would be September).


I do know that I went to see The Dark Knight the other night and it was difficult to watch Heath Ledger. I kept thinking about the fact that he was dead. And young. And it kept making me think of Fred. I've often thought that if I write about him, maybe eventually all the details will leave my mind. For good.


I've written about Fred before. The good times. Pictures. Dreams I've had. How I still think of him sometimes.


It's hard to understand that I could have been so in love with someone so damaged. But I was. I had no doubt that I wanted to spend my life with him, and him with me.


The day he died was a Friday. I think it was the 28th or 29th of September. And I think it was 1994 or 1995. Or maybe 1996.


What's funny is that I'm the kind of girl that remembers dates of personally significant events. But I continuously forget this date. Occasionally I look it up to remind myself of the real date, but then I forget it soon afterwards.


I was 28 years old, a few months shy of my 29th birthday. He was 28 also, having just turned a few months prior. This was one of those days that was life-altering. The "me" that I was before this day was profoundly different from the "me" that I became after. When I think back over my life thus far, it often feels like a "before/after" sort of layout.


Anyway- back to that day. At that point, Fred and I had been together about 16 months. We met in May, I moved in with him in July. And moved out 14 months later.


That "14 months later" phrase covers about a lifetime of experience for me.


So I had gotten up the strength to move out even though I couldn't completely leave him. He was supportive of me leaving, but when the time came, he held on very tightly. I think he knew more about the bigger picture than I did.


So on this Friday in September, I worked all day. I was working at a local weight loss center in Orlando, FL and it was "end of month" intense. So I didn't speak to him all day. I soon learned that he stayed home from work that day- apparently on one of his infamous drinking binges.


Up until the point that I met Fred, I was quite naive about alcoholism. I come from a family of social drinkers, but never seen first hand what the disease looks like. Fred would go weeks and weeks without drinking, then would go on a binge for several days. On the days leading up to these binges, he seemed to prepare for it. Getting the house in order, getting super caught up in work. And he happened to have a female boss in her 50's that had some weird intense crush on him, so she was extremely forgiving with his unexpected time off.


Fred had three distinct drunk personalities, and of course none of these was anything like his amazing sober personality. Drunk #1 was "Belligerent Fred", all macho, looking for a fight, looking for trouble, total alpha dog behavior in the worst way. Drunk #3 was "Party Fred", where he was funny, very flirtatious and magnetic, and always the center of attention. Drunk #3 was "Morbidly Sad Fred" when he became very childlike, confused, wanting to "be better" and sometimes wishing he would die.


His friends had learned to deal with #1, and they loved and encouraged #2. I was the only one that got to meet #3. This led to conflict between his friends and I. They would encourage him to drink, I would attempt to discourage him. It was during this time that I quit drinking, just in case I needed to get us home.


So I get home on this Friday in September at around 6 pm and there are multiple messages on my answer machine. At least six. Maybe more. And they were timed throughout the day. And each message was gradually more urgent. I heard each of the 3 drunk Fred's in these messages.


"Where are you? Why aren't you here?"


"You're supposed to be here!"


"Get here now!"


"Pleeeease...I need you. Come see me, OK?"


I often ask myself, what would have happened if I had ignored those messages? If I didn't get dressed and head right over there? If I had done the "right" thing at that moment, would there have been a different outcome?


So yeah, I drove over to his house, which had been my house too. The door to the attached garage was wide open, as was the inside door that led to the kitchen. The house was completely trashed, which was not unusual during his binges.


It was childlike, scared, drunk #3 Fred that greeted me. He confided in me that he was having thoughts of just ending it all. He told me he loved me and didn't want to continue to ruin my life. He claimed he tried to use a rope to hang himself in the garage but the rope was too flimsy. He showed it to me, it was basically string.


What if I had just called some authorities at this point? Or called someone that could help me, help him?


I didn't. I thought I had it under control. I held him, listened to him, talked to him, let him know how much I loved him. I hid the rest of the alcohol. I attempted to put the house in order.


Yes, I was the classic enabler before I really knew what that was.


Actually, I thought I knew exactly what to do with drunk #3 Fred. What usually worked was bringing him to bed, having sex with him, until he passed out. Believe me when I say I am not proud of this. Of how I was in this relationship. Or who I became.


But we never made it to bed. We got sidetracked.


Would it have been different if I had been more assertive about going to bed?