This is Jim

This is a picture of Jim from April 2012. When he and I first met we went to the beach a lot. It was where we went on our first date. I've written about Jim before.

This is also from April, 2012. Here he was painting my mother's kitchen in her condo. Don't tell her he put his dirty shoe on the counter.

This is from March, 2012. Those are his legs and my sandals. He has great legs!

This is now and Jim was moved to hospice this afternoon. The doctor said he's got three to seven days left, give or take three days. He is dying from end stage liver disease because he is an alcoholic and this last binge was more than his body could take. This is the drinking jag from which he will never recover.

I have no regrets knowing him, having him in my life, loving him, and sometimes hating him. We dated for a year then lived together for a year. After we separated, we still kept in touch. 

There was one point in his adult life when he was able to stay sober. I can't remember the length of time but I think it was at least five years. Maybe ten? He went to AA meetings every night. It is sad that he couldn't keep it going.

He taught me so many things. He taught me meditation, the tools to learn to live in the present, and what Reiki was. He showed me how one big long bear hug done the right way could make everything better. I bought him a Superman mug because that is what he was to me. A big strapping guy that wasn't afraid of anything. He didn't have to work out to be muscular. He just was. He was proud to be a Marine and I learned once a Marine, always a Marine.

At the beach he would hunt the big shells for me, feeling around with his feet. Once detected, he would dive for them with his eyes open! He grew up in Florida, a native, so this wasn't a big deal to him. Just something he could give to me to make me happy.

He would fall asleep on the couch sitting up and I would lie next to him curled up with my head on his chest and his arm draped over me. Safe and secure, these naps were just as good as a whole night's sleep.

It is because of Jim that I have Poppy. 

Knowing Jim, being loved by him when he was at his best, I finally felt free enough to accept myself. I am more me than I ever was because of Jim.

Before I paint too rosie a picture, anyone who has either lived with, loved, or been intimate with an active alcoholic knows life can get sour really fast. But, that's not why I am writing this.

Why am I writing this? Maybe because I'm sad, heavy-hearted, and I want you to know it. I still can't wrap my head around the whole thing. 

He is on a steady morphine drip to keep the pain at bay. He sleeps a lot, has a difficult time talking when he is awake, and the mischievous look that would light up his eyes is gone. 

He didn't have an easy life. I won't give up his secrets now or ever but he suffered. It was because of the depth of his suffering that he understood and accepted the depths of feelings in others. It was the reason why he was also quick to notice offenses, real or perceived.

He is beautifully broken. A fighter in the ring, he's on the mat and the ref is calling the count of ten. His loved ones, quietly watching, are waiting.