A Whory Story

            You know that feeling of eternal love?  Where it’s just perfect, and the years together have melted into one, and then comes the plans of everlasting happiness, which includes marriage, babies and a home? 

            I had that once.

            It seems like it was a flash in the proverbial pan now, but I thought I really had it.  Everything was there at my fingertips.  Everything I wanted was there for me; he was there for me. 

            I was with this guy for 5 years.  5 years of love and happiness and plans.  5 years of hard time and good times, I thought I was done looking for Mr. Right, being that I had found him and I loved him and he loved me. 

            How wrong I was.

            Lets go back to February 2012.  I was working one night at the hospital when I got a phone call from my mother.  I don’t answer it because I am in fact at work.  Then I get a text “911” from her.  First thing I can think of is something happened to my dad or one of my sisters.  I told the charge nurse that I was going to go on break then.  As I am walking down the back stairs to the parking lot I called her back.

            “Are you there?” she asks me?

            “Yea, mom, whats up?”

            I knew something was wrong before she even told me what had happened.

            “He shot himself.”

            I don’t think I heard her right.  No way.

            “What?”

            “He committed suicide.  Sorry to tell you this at work I didn’t want you to find out from Facebook or something.”

            “I have to go”

            For a few moments I am stunned.  An unusual warmth crept up my body starting from my toes and spreading north.  It was freezing outside.  And all I could do was stand there.  I can’t remember the exact details of what happened after I went inside and told my friend and nurse manager what happened.  They let me leave work and I headed towards home where everyone was.

            He was a brother to me.  Literally, he came to my house for Christmas and holidays.  We talked about everything whether it was good or bad or ugly.  No one saw it coming.  He was the happiest guy in the world. 

            So, typically, when a person is upset they would call their significant other.  So I did.  I called my boyfriend at the time.  He had been acting strange towards me for a few days, but I figured he was just busy with work and such.  As usual he’s not answering me.  I start crying then.  I needed him.  I needed him to talk to me.  I needed to hear his voice.  I called about 6 times in a row before finally reaching him.

            “Babe?”

            “Whats up?”

            “He is dead.  He shot himself…” I can’t speak.

            There was silence on the other end of the line.  He knew him and me were close, so I’m thinking he doesn’t know what to say to me, or how to say anything.  What can one possibly say to their girlfriend after their friend dies so horribly?

            “I have to go.  Sorry”

            That’s the answer I got. 

            “OK.  I love you.”

            “OK.  Ill call you later”

            Notice how there was no ‘I love you too’ in there.  I didn’t until I remembered the conversation.  What an ass hole.  I get nothing.  Not a damn thing.

            I get to the place where everyone has met up.  And who is the first person to see me and pull me into his arms for a hug?  Guy #1.  (He will be introduced in the next chapter.  Bear with me).

            Needless to say, a week passes and it the day of the funeral.  My boyfriend still won’t talk to me, and he didn’t even come to the wake to be with me.  I never asked him for anything, and he can’t even be with me on one of the hardest days of my adult life.

            As I sit in the church waiting for things to settle, I am tying to take my mind off the fact that I am sitting in a church for my friend’s funeral and still my boyfriend is no where to be found.  I am thunderstruck.  He did show up eventually, but he ignored me and didn’t sit with me.  He walks out of the church following the procession and I follow a few rows further back.  Finally he comes to me and hugs me. 

            Isn’t it weird how there are things that you will always remember?  He smelled so good, and I was wearing black pants and a blue shirt with heals.  It was a windy and an eerily quiet day.  I think its weird that I will always remember that stuff.  It’s the shit I wish I could forget, but unfortunately, that will never happen.

            I jump in my friend’s car to go to the cemetery.  He doesn’t come.  He says he has to meet up with his friend at the bar for a little bit.  I don’t care at this point what he is doing because I am just done with the day.

            On the way back from the cemetery I text him to tell him where we are and to meet me at the firehouse where the party will be.  He says he will be there soon.  Whatever.  Click.  He didn’t show up for about an hour after I had gotten there.

            When he comes in he is weird, and quiet.  All my friends are there and were having a few drinks.  He tells me he is leaving for the weekend to go to his alma mater with a friend.  I already knew this.  He says he was leaving right now.  I said OK!

            “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

            Uh-oh.  That’s never good.

            “Sure.”

            We head outside, and he hands me a note, which says my full name across the top envelope.  Never once had he called me by my full name.  In 5 years there was no full name calling.

            “Aw, babe, is this a love letter?”

            I open it, and the first line is this, ‘as you may have noticed, I have been absent these last few days…”

            I stopped reading, tucked the letter back into the envelope and looked him dead in the eye.  “Are you breaking up with me?”

            He breaks eye contact and looks down at his feet.  Like a pussy, and nodded his head.  I throw the letter in his face and walked back inside to get my things.  I was leaving.  He followed of course, why wouldn’t he.  He wanted to talk about it now.  Sorry, no.  I’m so sorry, but you broke up with me at my friend’s funeral IN A FUCKING NOTE. So no, I'm not talking to him.

            Lets just say this; that day I died a little bit too.  But in the coming months I was born again.  I was like a new woman.  I lost weight, cut and colored my hair and became something I was familiar with.  I was reborn and I came back to my old self. 

            And this is where the Whory Story begins….