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Sawyer didn’t make another sound and I watched as Jeron paced, mumbling to himself, shaking his head. After a few minutes, he turned and looked at me with dead eyes, then walked back out the front door into the storm. I didn’t have a fucking clue what had just happened, but I curled into a ball and cried.

  After I got myself together, I checked on Sawyer, who was sleeping in his toddler bed. I went through the house checking every window and door making sure they were locked. Then I went to the bathroom and flicked on the light. When I looked in the mirror I saw fingerprint-shaped bruises had started to take hold. I spent the rest of the night sitting on the sofa, jumping at every sound.

  I know I keep talking about how I regret actions or choices made, but if there was one single thing I could go back and change this would be it. The decisions I made out of fear and what I thought at the time was love will forever haunt me.

  After that night I hid at home, for two days Sawyer and I didn’t do much other than play, watch movies, and hang out. I fought with myself the entire time, I knew I should call the police, but I couldn’t make myself actually go through with doing it. My neck was swollen and bruised, and Sawyer would often come over and give my owwie kisses, which would then cause my head to spin and fight back tears.

  At night I wasn’t able to sleep; I heard every creak, or whine of the wind and I’d jump, my mind positive it was Jeron coming back. I had nightmares about him coming and taking Sawyer and there was nothing I could do to stop him. So then I’d wake up in a cold sweat and rush into Sawyer’s room, just to make sure.

  On the third day I was contemplating going back to work, I was practicing with ways to cover the bruises that ringed my neck. I’d also gone through and found treatment facilities for Jeron. Things had to change, and if they didn’t change, I would no longer be able to let him see Sawyer.

  I was lying Sawyer down for his nap when I heard someone knocking; I checked once more on my sleeping son then went to answer it. When I saw Jeron standing on the other side, I gasped and scrambled backward. Jeron though just stood there and stared at me, pain clear on his face.

  He cleared his throat. “Uhm, can I come in?”

  “Uh no, no I don’t think you can.”

  He closed his eyes, and a tear leaked down his face. “Trin,” he croaked, “please, I can’t apologize enough, for the past day I’ve …” he scrubbed his hands over his face, “god, I’ve thought of nothing but what I did to you.”

  He looked up at me his eyes bleak. “Sweetheart, I’m so sorry, I’d never, fuck.”

  I stared hard at him, licked my lips and against my better judgment, nodded. Jeron slowly walked in and stopped in front of me, his fingers reached up and lightly brushed my neck. He closed his eyes tightly, when he reopened them, tears shimmered, obscuring his beautiful blue eyes.

  “It’s like a nightmare that keeps running through my head,” he whispered. “I keep seeing myself doing this, and it makes me sick. I’m so sorry I hurt you, Trin.” He ran his thumb across the bruises once more. “I’m going to stop, Trin, I can’t,” he cleared his throat, “can’t handle the way you’re looking at me, I can’t have you scared of me.”

  “I have some demands, Jeron,” I said softly.

  He laughed quietly. “Anyone else would kick me in the balls repeatedly, but you have demands. Alright, sweetheart, let’s hear them.”

  “You have to get help.” I closed my eyes trying to get the strength to say the next part. “You can’t see Sawyer again until you get help.”

  I felt him flinch. “That’s a good demand.”

  “And you have to go to NA meetings, Jeron.”

  “Can I come home?” and I could see the stark fear in his eyes when he asked.

  I licked my lips. “If you get clean? Yea, we can work it out, but, Jeron, I can’t go through this again.”

  “I understand, and I’ll do whatever I have to so I can come home.”

  Jeron and I sat down and went through different treatment facilities. Jeron called and talked to various people; we wanted to find a place that he would feel comfortable, some place that could help him. When Sawyer woke up, he ran to Jeron, and hugged his little arms tightly around his daddy’s neck.

  The rest of the day we talked, really talked, while Jeron bounced Sawyer on his knee and played with him. It was like getting my husband back, and I prayed that this would be a permanent thing. By the end of the day, we had a plan of action ready.

  Chad had agreed to drive to the rehab center the next day. Jeron wouldn’t let me take him; he feared he wouldn’t be able to walk away if I was there. Chad and Jeron would drive the six hours, and then Jeron would be gone for as long as it took to get himself on the right track.

  And I promised that Sawyer and I would be here waiting for him to come home. Jeron helped me bathe and put Sawyer to bed; it was so much like how things used to be that I had to fight tears. When he was leaving that night he hugged me tightly; we both knew that this could be the last time we saw each other for a while.

  He ran his thumb over my bottom lip. “I’m going to fix this.”

  I smiled through my tears. “I know you will.”

  “I’m going to go get my things from Rachel’s and leave them at Chad’s.”

  I nodded. “Okay.”

  “I’m sorry for hurting you, I don’t deserve you.”

  We both knew he wasn’t just apologizing for the bruises.

  “I love you, Trin,” he whispered and pressed a soft kiss to my lips.

  I returned the kiss and murmured, “Love you, too.”

  He ran the back of his hand across my cheek and brushed another kiss against my lips. “I’ll see you soon, sweetheart.”

  Then he was gone. I leaned against the door, almost afraid to hope.

  There are moments in life when you know your world is changing, that the plane of your existence is being altered. Sometimes you know while it happens, others you look back and you can see it clearly. This was one of those moments for me, and I knew before the words were spoken that my reality had just been shattered.

  It was almost déjà vu― that knock on the door. I was once again looking through pictures of my family, thinking back to easier times. By now Jeron should be at Chad’s, and they would be getting ready to leave. Only I knew who was at that door, and I squeezed my eyes tight as I pulled it open.

  “Mrs. Price?” the officer asked.

  I nodded mutely.

  “I’m sorry ma’am,” he began and I started to keen. “I’m sorry to inform you, Mrs. Price, but earlier this evening we found your husband,” he looked down at his notepad, “one Jeron Price. He was unresponsive when we arrived on the scene, and he never regained consciousness.”

  “He’s dead,” I whispered.

  The look of pity he gave me would be forever etched in my mind. “Yes, I’m sorry for your loss, ma’am.”

  Tears started streaming down my cheeks, and I was making a sound I never knew I could make. The officer, who I realized was young, my age, looked immensely uncomfortable. I don’t know if I so much as sat down as fell to the floor, and began rocking back and forth. I buried my face in my knees and cried for what felt like days.

  When I looked up again, the officer was gone, and I was alone. No matter how much I wanted to sit there and blank out of the world, I knew I couldn’t. A gaping hole was ripped into my heart, and eventually I’d have to figure out how to live with that. For now, I blocked everything, all the pain, the sadness, the anger.

  I called Chad first, who immediately came over and held my hand while I called and found out the details. Details I didn’t want to know, but knew I had to. Jeron was found hours after he left here, sitting in the parking lot of the park we had Sawyer’s first birthday party. The police found his truck through a drive by of the area. The interior light was on, and Jeron was keeled over the passenger side; he was dead on the scene, but they tried to revive him.

  Chad held me while my world shattered all over again. They didn’t know th
e exact cause of his death, but it seemed he had heart failure. They didn’t have to tell me more, I knew what had happened. My husband, my best friend, over dosed on Meth. After I got all the information I could, I left Sawyer with Chad’s wife. We had to go and identify the body. We could have waited, but I wanted to get this nightmare over with. Chad offered to go instead, but I wouldn’t let him, I needed to see him to know, to make sure that it was really him.

  When I walked in that room, I had to run to the nearest trash can and vomit. There on a gurney lay my husband, lying so still. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and took a deep breath before I could walk toward him. Chad lingered by the door watching while tears ran down his cheeks.

  I ran my fingers across his cold hands, needing to touch him one last time. His dirty-blond hair was mussed, his five o’clock shadow rough against his jaw. He was still wearing the same clothes he had left my house in earlier in the evening, or was that yesterday now, I wasn’t sure. I brushed my fingers through his soft hair, laid my head down on his chest and willed his arms to wrap around me while I cried, like they had so many times before.

  How do you say goodbye to your soul mate? How was I expected to leave him behind in this room? I didn’t know how to do this; I wasn’t prepared to do this.

  Eventually I stood and wiped my face and then signed the paperwork. I walked out with my husband’s possessions in a plastic bag that I held closely to my body. I couldn’t let them go; if I let them go then that would be the same as admitting he was gone. For now I was just holding on to them until he got home, home like we had planned, he would come home and be healthy and better. Not this though, this wasn’t real, it couldn’t be real.

  Chad asked where next, and I knew it was time I went to see Beth. I called Marcus before showing up so he knew what was to come. When I showed up, she knew something was wrong, and I watched her fall apart in her fiancées arms as I told her that her brother was dead. Then I held her hand as she called their father to tell him about his son.

  I don’t remember much of that time after that. I knew people were constantly coming in and out of our home. People offered their condolences, family I never met came to town. I was numb and closed off from it all. I just wanted to hold Sawyer tight, my last piece on Earth that connected me to my husband.

  The day we buried Jeron was cold and rainy; he would have loved it. He loved days like this when we would cuddle under the covers; we would laugh, talk, just enjoy being with each other. I decided that we would forgo the church service since Jeron didn’t put a lot of stock into religion. He said he was an atheist, but I think he was just angry at the world. So instead we all showed up at his gravesite, the place where my husband would live for the rest of eternity.

  I held our son on my lap as people filled in behind us to say goodbye to Jeron Reginald Price. I did have a local minister come in to pray. I knew Jeron would be angry about that, but he wasn’t here to bitch at me. He wasn’t here … he wouldn’t ever be here again.

  We sat and listened to the minister pray; I asked him not to do anything other than pray. I didn’t want someone who had never met Jeron to sing his praises. I wanted, God, I wanted my husband back.

  After the minister sat down, Chad stood up and walked to the casket, the casket that held my dead husband. Chad stood for a moment and stared down at the wooden box. Then he opened his mouth and started to talk about his best friend. He talked about the trouble they got into, the fun they had, we were laughing, and crying along with his stories.

  Once Chad sat down, others stood and talked about their own times with Jeron. I smiled through some of the stories, laughed through others. The people whose lives Jeron touched were what held me together. I learned things about my husband, about his generosity, his capacity to love, but what was repeated often was how much he loved me and his son.

  We sat there in the drizzling rain, and remembered my husband for who he was. After it was done, we headed back to Beth’s house. I shook hands, had my cheek kissed and prayed for this day to end.

  At some point Chad’s wife forced me to sit down and eat, but I couldn’t, I was hollow. So I played with the food on my plate and watched Jeron’s friends and family drink a beer in his memory. Laugh and reminisce about the boy, teenager, man that he was.

  One thing I did notice was that nobody was willing to breach the topic of how and why he died. And a part of me wanted to scream, cry, and throw shit. I wanted to rage against all these people who didn’t have to deal with the fact that he died by his own hand.

  When it was over and people began to trickle out, I pasted on a fake smile and thanked people for coming. Yes thank you, thank you for coming and standing with me while I said goodbye to the one person who made my life a life. Thank you for coming and watching my pain.

  When only a few people remained, I sat down on the couch and pulled Sawyer into my lap. Reggie, who I didn’t remember seeing, sat down beside me. He wrapped his arms around Sawyer and me, and we cried. We cried for his son, we cried for my son, we cried for what should have been.

  The next few weeks, months, I lived in a fog of grief. Reggie moved into my home and helped me with Sawyer; the two quickly bonded over chocolate milk and pancakes while Reggie told Sawyer stories about his daddy. I listened to stories of Jeron’s life as a child; I listened to the stories of what a family should be.

  I liked to think that, that night was Jeron’s last time. That the promises of getting help and meeting Chad the next morning was going through his mind. That he was thinking of his family, but just needed one last time before giving it up completely. I have to think this way, because if he changed his mind, a part of me would break so completely I’d never be able to fix it.

  Some people couldn’t understand why I let Reggie move in with us. He wanted to be closer to his family, and I needed the companionship. We were both mourning, and I felt bad for him. He lost not just his son, but he lost the possibility of making things right with his son. I could look in his eyes and see the guilt that was there, it was the same guilt that was in his son’s eyes.

  Beth had a baby boy, and was married shortly after. I was forced to be put on show like an animal at a zoo as the maid of honor, is it maid or matron when you’re a widow? I only did it because it was Beth, and she threatened me with bodily harm. It was a nice wedding; I faked my way through it at as best I could, but someone was missing, and we could all feel it.

  Chad and his wife came over often. We all ended up becoming friends, which was strange since before all of this we’d barely spoke. Tragedy makes strange bedfellows I guess, it was nice though because they didn’t expect me to be fine like the rest of the world. When I was with them it was okay to be sad, it was okay want to scream.

  I think the worst part of grieving is when you have that moment when you forget. When everything is normal, and you want to look over and tell him something funny that had happened. Or when Sawyer did something that frustrated me and I wanted to tell Jeron how Sawyer was just like him and I couldn’t. The worst though was at night when I’d reach out for him and instead the bed was empty, and I’d remember everything all over again.

  And through my fog I watched life pass, the hazy images of loved ones continue on with their lives. I was stuck though; I didn’t know how to live without him. Even when he wasn’t here, he was still here. Now I was set adrift and I didn’t know where I would end up.

  Time passed slowly and quickly at the same time. Until one day I woke up, and I knew if Jeron could see me now he would kick my ass. I had our son to raise― I had to be the strong one now.

  While I know that everyone means well, the loss Sawyer and I sustained will always mar our lives. The platitudes that were given daily don’t give us the reassurance they’re meant to. I know in my head that one day it won’t hurt as bad, that we’ll move on with our lives. That we’ll always love him, but I could eventually find love in another. That he didn’t want to leave us, or he had a disease. While my brain understands t
hese thoughts and ideas, my heart though yearns for its mate. Yes, Jeron had a disease, but his addiction, like cancer, didn’t just affect him. It affected everyone in his circle, his death wasn’t just his, it was the death of a dream, a promise. And along the way I learned that his addiction to drugs was only going to end up one of two ways, the long difficult road to recovery or where we stand today, a hole in our family that will not ever be truly repaired.

  I once heard that some people are like shooting stars, they flash into our lives then back out leaving a small streak of beauty in their wake. Jeron was more of a meteor; he flashed into my life, impacted and changed the shape of my world forever. Jeron was many things: a hero, a friend, a lover, a criminal, in his own words a complete fuck up with a few good moments. The best thing about Jeron was he wasn’t perfect, realized he wasn’t perfect and didn’t expect you to be perfect. I could wax poetically about what a great man my husband was, but those who knew him would know I was blowing smoke up their ass. Not saying that he wasn’t a terrific person, he was, he was my version of perfection. He had his flaws, lots of them in fact, but I loved him because of those flaws. Jeron was a drug addict; he let the drugs consume him until they took him from us too early. There will always be a part of me that is angry with him, he allowed a substance to take over his life to the point that he left his wife and son behind. More than anything though, I will remember the man I knew and loved. The man who bought me my first birthday cake, held me when I cried, made me laugh, and held my hand when we welcomed our son into the world.

  I’ll always love Jeron, I’ll always miss him, and I’ll always hold on to the best pieces of him. I’ll savor the moments with our son for the both of us. And eventually I’ll live a life that he would be proud of; I’ll live for the both of us.

  If you or someone you love is affected with addiction, I beg you to find support. The life of an addict, or the loved one of an addict, is a harsh one. Knowing you have someone who can understand can often be more of a solace than you realize.