This piece originally ran on Righteous Anger.
We went to see Texas Trash and the Hangovers on Halloween. Seemed fitting. Rose introduced me to my husband on a Halloween night 13 years earlier. He was playing with one of his old bands on that night. So, why shouldn’t she and I go see his current band play on the anniversary of that date? It seemed perfect.
When the Hangovers played, I watched the band. I didn’t see where she went. I would later learn that in those 45 minutes, she downed 13 drinks. And she had already been drinking before that. She was a hardcore alcoholic, though, so that’s just how she did things.
After the gig, we drove back to our house. She wanted me to get more booze. I told her no. I also told her she had to stay; I would not let her drive.
We sat, talked and smoked for a few hours. A couple of hours later, she went into the bathroom. Almost an hour later, she was still in there. I went to check on her. She was unconscious on the floor. I couldn’t rouse her. I called 911.
When the paramedics arrived, they were able to restore her to consciousness very quickly. In fact, it seemed like they had barely walked through the front door, and she was already sitting up and talking rationally to them. They asked her what she had taken. She said she had 16 drinks. I only saw her have three, so she had 13 while away from me. They asked her about drugs. She denied taking any drugs. They wanted her to go the hospital. She refused. I agreed to sit up and watch her. And I did. All night.
The next morning, about 7:30, I went to bed. She seemed okay. At 9, I got up because our son was curled up on the couch with her. She was breathing. I took him to bed with me. An hour later, Lenny took the kids to the park.
At 11, Lenny woke me. “Rose is blue,” he told me. I got up quickly. She was gone. Cold. Blue lips. No life. Not coming back. I called 911 again. They came and told me what I already knew. Two days before she would have been 33, my best friend was dead. Alcohol and prescription drugs.