holy fucking shit, what an absolute shit show the last few days have been. on thursday morning I found out my ex-boyfriend had passed away due to heart failure. these last few days trying to process and grieve have been hard. really hard. it’s been several years since we dated, but I still cared about him and his health.
I think it hurts so much because I knew him before his health decline, and then I watched him deal with a stoke, a heart transplant, and getting back on his feet with rehab. It hurts because I watched him deal with those issues and I wanted to see him win that fight.
I saw photos of him here and there. I saw how the medicines changed his body. He got really swollen, he got extremely skinny. I just wanted to see him win. I wanted him to be able to live a full life despite the complications.
I always think about him and his family. He was my first ever boyfriend, and I was his first and only girlfriend. I got to know his family really well, and we got especially close when he was in the hospital. I haven’t seen his family since we broke up. I keep up with them on Facebook, but I always thought they hated me because I was the one that broke it off.
I’m glad I was back home when he passed, even though I would’ve done whatever I could to have made it back. Seeing his family at the service was hard. Watching everyone go up and give their condolences and see him in the casket was hard.
Making my way to them and hugging, crying, and grieving with them was hard. I told them I loved him and I loved them, and that I was sorry. I told them I always think about them. His mom told me I gave him the best years of his life, and she thanked me for that. His aunt told me that she’ll never forget how he looked at me that day we went to her house for his graduation party. She told me that when he passed, he wasn’t in pain. He was doing well that morning before his cardiologist appointment but his 2nd heart couldn’t take it. He passed quickly and peacefully. He wasn’t hurting anymore.
His mom told my grandmother that he had asked her to make her chicken curry three times, and each time he said it wasn’t as good as my grandmother’s. He really loved her cooking.
Seeing his dad cry was hard. Seeing his mom cry was hard. Seeing his little brother standing there emotionless was heartbreaking. His little brother adored him. I remember when he was in the hospital and how badly his little brother wanted to be there with him. Now he’s dealing with the loss of his only brother.
Seeing him in the casket was hard. Seeing him laying there, pale yellow and lifeless hurt. Seeing him and all of the memories flooding back hurt, god they fucking hurt. I feel better knowing he’s not in pain anymore. He doesn’t have to worry about his heart, or about the pending kidney transplant. He’s better. He’s happier. A huge weight has been lifted but fuck, he was robbed of his youth. His entire young adulthood was taken from him. Instead of enjoying it, he spent a lot of it going to hospitals and getting medications, and this, that, and the other. He was only 22, with his 23rd Birfmas coming up. He’s been dealing with this for four years.
The day after his passing marked the anniversary of when all of this started. He had his stroke on December 6, 2015. He passed away on December 5, 2019.
I wish I had gotten to see him again before he passed. I hadn’t seen him in so long. I wish I had gotten to tell him all of the things I never got to.
I know I’m going to grieve for a long time. It’s hard and his sudden passing was unexpected. I knew he may not live a long time, but he was barely into his 20s. I’m thankful that he no longer has to worry about his heart or a kidney. He’s relieved, and that’s all I could really ask for.
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