The Love of My Life Died Today. Again.

After grieving him for 5 years, today I have to let him go

11.Oct.2019

The love of my life died today. He died, again.

For the last five years, I’ve been grieving his loss, his almost-death.

A high-risk surgery didn’t end well and left him alive but dead: he came out of the surgery with severe brain damages. Only his organs were functioning: his mind, his body, and his conscious were gone. The man he was, died, his humanity was taken away from him.

When this happened, my pain was unbearable. Visiting his immobile body with is non-reactive mind and his seemingly blind gaze was killing me. I tried not to visit, to stay home and skip the visits, but it was even worse, guilt made me feel horrible, worse than the sadness and despair of seeing him.

The love of my life was alive but dead. I couldn’t see him like that.

Days before the surgery, we had “the” conversation. He had to ensure to left nothing unsaid; to make sure I would be safe if the worse happened. He also made me promise I’d be happy. I’ve been trying, my love.

In that conversation, he also asked me not to let him live plugged into machines. Like me, his independence was what he valued the most, he couldn’t bear the idea of being a burden for anyone. Physical or emotional.

After the surgery, he was in a coma for a week, there was still hope. Until there wasn’t anymore. But by this time, it was too late, he was no longer dependent on an artificial respirator, all his organs were functioning independently.

A few months went by, me travelling more than a hundred miles to visit him (he couldn't be transferred to a hospital near our home), until the last visit. The worse I had.

That day, sat by his side, looking at his non-reactive body, all I could hear inside me were his words: “don’t let me live plugged to machines. If I don’t come out of the surgery fine, please let me go.”

We were alone in the room, my heart was broken, my soul crushed, I had lost the purpose of life. All I had in me was his last wish. I owed him that.

I grabbed a pillow, raised it above his head and ask him for forgiveness. I was going to set him free.

My tears rolled down my face, not in line but like a waterfall. All my body was shaking. I was fighting against myself.

I gave up, I collapsed on the floor hugging the pillow as if it was his body. I could never hurt my love. Even if it meant setting him free.

I kissed him goodbye, asked him forgiveness for what I was about to do and I left the hospital room. I never went back again.

When I got home (at my mother’s home, because I had lost our flat, I couldn’t afford it), I turned the computer on, open an internet browser in a job search website and applied for jobs abroad.

Two weeks later I got a job in England.

Five months after the surgery that stole the love of my life, letting him alive but dead, I landed in Luton Airport, with two suitcases and a shattered heart. I was going to start a new life. I was going to try and keep the promise I made him. I was completely alone, for the first time in so many years.

After six months of living in England, I went back to Portugal to see him. It was so traumatic I never went back to my country again.

The guilt I feel since the first day I left Portugal is the heaviest thing I ever carried in my life. I abandoned my love!

We weren’t married but the vows are made out of love, not for status. To love is to love and to take care of each other, in health and in illness. I was a coward, I left him behind, I run away to England to try to be happy again, while he spent the rest of his life laying in a hospital bed. In a meaningless life.

I didn’t leave him alone: his parents, his son, his four brothers and sisters, and his friends stayed with him, until the end. But me, his love, his life partner, I left.

Guilt has been corrosive in my body for the last five years. Even knowing I did what I had to do to survive. I did what he asked me to do: to live a happy life.

Today, the love of my life died.

I always thought this day would come as a relief. His suffering is over, his wish was finally accomplished. He’s no longer in pain, dependent on others, causing deep suffering to the loved ones. He is free.

But I don’t feel relief. I feel acute merciless pain. I feel anger for not having had the courage to travel and see him one last time, as I kept saying myself I would over and over. “Next month I’ll go there”, I kept saying, month after month, year after year.

My beloved England became my home and my refuge. I travelled abroad several times since I emigrated. But never to Portugal again. I shut that door. And now that hurts me deeply.

Today I lost the love of my life forever.

For five years I’ve been grieving his loss, wishing he would leave, in peace, forever.

I don’t feel relief for him, I’m selfish: I want him back. I need my safe port, I need his big arms that hugged all my fears and anxieties away. I need his loving eyes on mine, showing me his eternal, loyal and unconditional love. i need to tell him one last time “I love you.”

I need to have him by my side, even if only one more time. I need a last hug from the man that gave me a happy life. That showed me true love, that made me truly love someone. I miss us so much.

Today, my heart is dead. It’s beating but it’s dead. The love of my life passed away. With him, he took part of me, he took the most beautiful and sensitive part of me. It was his.

Some days ago, I wrote this piece:

I wrote about how he’s still a part of me, how I carry him in my heart no matter where I am, or what I do. I always shared with him my life, even after he was gone.

For five years I grieved an alive person — that hurts terribly. I grieved a suspended death.

My memories of him were always ‘contaminated’ by the suffering he lived the last past five years.

The relief I was expecting to have after receiving the notice of his death didn’t come. It will, soon, I hope. I keep receiving texts of friends and family saying what we all believe “it’s for the best, his suffering ended.” I KNOW THAT, BUT STILL, IT HURTS TOO MUCH.

Now my memories are pain-free. Maybe I can even go back to look at our pictures again. It has been five years I avoid looking at us — the memory of his pale face, the skinny sick body always assaulted my mind. Maybe now I can look at him and stay there, in the moment of the picture, smiling at our memory, without having his present life stabbing my soul.

He is gone, but he left so much with me. I will always be grateful for the life we shared. I will always cry for him, but I will always carry a smile for him.

This is the last picture we took together. Love. Trust. Belonging.

The love of my life died today. With him, he took my heart.

(apologies for any typos and grammar errors, this is a therapeutic text for me, published in honour of the great man the world lost today. It was not edited)