The Love of My Life Died, but I Don't Want to Know Why

It's not so cut and dried

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I recorded a podcast describing the day Joey died. Sunday, January 19th, was the sixth anniversary of his death. Nothing is more difficult to write than details about the day he died. No matter how long it’s been, it always brings me to tears and likely always will.

Addiction

Joey was funny. I couldn’t be with a guy who isn’t funny. He was also very good-looking, and he had dimples when he smiled. When he thought something was funny but tried not to smile, he was even cuter because that’s when his dimples were most prominent.

Joey wasn’t perfect but who is? We all have our vices, but drug addiction is a battle of both the body and mind. It was difficult to watch him struggle, as anyone knows if they’ve had a loved one caught up in this torment.

Most of our four-and-a-half-year relationship was long-distance. He lived in the St. Louis area, and I was almost four hours away. I had a full-time job, and he was working when he could.

He wanted me to move out there with him. I was fine with that. I traveled there for several interviews and just couldn’t land a job. The more he was on his own, the more stressed he was, leading to him getting high. He ended up in jail, rehab, etc. I still loved him and accepted him no matter what his issues.

Maybe I was addicted to him.

After he completed one of the required programs, he moved in with his parents temporarily. I hesitated in moving out there because I wanted to make sure he was clean and had a job.

On January 17th we were texting back and forth. He was trying to convince me to move to St. Louis and look for a job once I was there.

That was too much risk for me. I didn’t like the unknown. I didn’t like the lack of control. If I landed a job first, that would give me enough security to make the move. Sometimes we want situations to be perfect, but perfection never comes.

The call

On Saturday, two days after that text conversation, I was just waking up from a nap when my phone rang. I was still a bit groggy when I looked at it. The caller ID showed Joe’s mom’s name. I didn’t answer. I knew something must be wrong. I needed to clear my head before talking to her. I figured he must’ve gotten arrested or something. I didn’t know what it was, but I knew it wasn’t good.

She left a voice message asking me to call her back. I did. She told me he died that morning.

I was in shock. I had no words. I was eventually able to start speaking. I don’t remember exactly what I said. Something like “Wha…. How? What happened?!” She said she tried to wake him up for work that morning and he was gone. He wasn’t high the night before and the investigator and medical examiner found no evidence of drugs or paraphernalia.

It was the worst moment of my life.

She assured me she would contact me with the details of the arrangements. After hanging up, I sobbed uncontrollably. I slumped down onto the floor beside my bed and cried. My cat Zoe came up to me, meowed, and reached up and put her front paws on my shoulder. She doesn’t normally do that. She doesn’t meow much at all.

She knew.

I’m crying as I write this. It happens every time I talk or write about it.

He thought a lot of you

I met his family for the first time at his funeral. You never imagine that it’ll happen that way. You dream of your boyfriend bringing you home to meet his parents. You both feel nervous, anticipating their reactions to you. You want to make a good impression and just pray they like you.

I’d spoken to his mom several times over the phone and through texts, though they weren’t always the best of circumstances. Sometimes it was because I couldn’t get ahold of him and found out he was passed out or high. We also spoke a couple of times while he was in jail or rehab.

Joe had never been in a relationship with a guy. He’d been with women but hadn’t been ready to accept the fact that he was attracted to other guys. He told me he was in love with me, but it would take a while for him to come out to his friends and family.

He actually asked me to marry him, but it was over the phone. I said, “You can’t ask me to marry you over the phone! You need to get down on one knee with a ring!” I was halfway kidding because we both knew I’d say yes.

When I arrived at the funeral home, I slowly walked to the front of the room where the casket was, and I first introduced myself to his mother. She gave me a hug and we talked for a moment. Then, she introduced me to Joey’s dad.

He said, “Oh, Brandon… Joe really thought a LOT of you.”

I lost it.

I assumed he hadn’t talked much about me to his parents because he was afraid of coming out. I kept prodding him to tell them — to tell anyone about us because I was insecure and wondered at times, if he was truly in love with me as he said he was.

Then she walked with me to the casket. I couldn’t hold it together, not that I had done very well up to that point. It wasn’t real before that, though. He was fine the last time I talked to him. He was only 29; he was too young.

Seeing him lying there was… I don’t know what it was. I can’t put those feelings into words.

After the funeral, I talked to his sister. She said he talked about me all the time. I started crying again. How could I not? This guy that I loved so much, loved me in more ways than I was aware of. He didn’t have to tell his family; they knew.

I felt stupid. I’d let my own insecurities keep me from trusting him completely. I make excuses for why I felt that way. I was raised by a father who said that he loved me, but his actions told a different story.

Does that mean everyone around me was not to be trusted? No, but core beliefs instilled at a young age are many times insurmountable. I couldn’t let myself off that easy, though. It was my problem, not his.

His mother said they conducted a toxicology but didn’t have the results yet. I never got back in touch with her to find out what the results were. You may wonder why. You may think you would want to know — you would have to know.

At first, I did want to know and then I thought about it. What would happen if I found out that it was deemed natural causes? He had an aneurysm, heart attack, or whatever else. The years of drug use had a profoundly negative impact on his body; it happens. There’s nothing that could’ve been done about that.

On the other hand, what if I found out that he’d taken something? Did he do it on purpose because I was dragging my feet about moving out there with him? Did he doubt that I loved him? Did he take something laced with something else that caused an overdose? If I had been with him, could I have prevented it?

Do you see where that road leads? It does no good to know. It doesn’t change the result. It doesn’t make me feel better. In fact, it might make me feel much, much worse. It might cause me to blame myself and send me into a depression too deep to ascend from.

Am I to blame? No. Logically, I know that. Would that logical thought keep me from taking responsibility for his death?

No.

On his birthday, I sent his mother purple flowers. Purple was his favorite color. She called and told me how much she appreciated it. I did it again the following year and the year after that. Then, his parents moved to a different home, and I haven’t heard from his mom since. I think she’s trying to move on, so I don’t send flowers anymore.

We all move on, somehow.

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