A song written by R. Beresford Y H. Sanders and sung by the living legend of country music, George jones, titled, If Drinkin ‘Don’t Kill Me (Her Memory Will), it has a very different meaning to me today.

In my case, this song was left wide open to interpret the meaning in whatever way the listener liked. On George jones case, it was rumored that he lived the song in full color. If his drink would not kill him, the memory that would kill him was in reference to his wife, at that time, the late, great Country Music First Lady, Tammy Wynette. Most likely, the song was intended to depict the painful and self-destructive ways that a broken relationship or divorce can take on a person unable to handle the disappointment of a failed relationship.

On a more serious note, my interpretation of this song has a more deadly impact than divorce. It means eternal pain for the permanent loss of my soulmate, my spouse, my wife and my life, which was once very happy.

Let me share with you the lyrics of this song, to better understand my story:

If Drinkin ‘Don’t Kill Me (Her Memory Will)

The bars are all closed

It’s four in the morning

Must have closed them all

For the way that I am

I put my head on the wheel

And the horn starts honking

The whole neighborhood knows

That I’m drunk at home again

Chorus:

And if drink don’t kill me

His memory

I can’t take much more

The way i feel

With the blood of my body

I could still start mine

And if drink don’t kill me

His memory

These old bones move slowly

But so sure of his steps

As I stumble on the floor

And land softly

Sir, it’s been ten bottles

Since i tried to forget her

But the memory still lingers

Lying here on the floor

Chorus:

And if drink don’t kill me

His memory

I can’t take much more

The way i feel

With the blood of my body

I could still start mine

But if drinking don’t kill me

His memory …

THE END

Almost six years have passed since the horrible disease of cancer claimed the life of my dear wife, Bobbie. It hit her so badly that she could no longer think clearly and had no control of some of her bodily functions. She fought the relentless demon to the end. But like some wicked crusades, they sometimes win.

He had always been a beer drinker. I am not in denial of that. I am an alcoholic.However, my illness was practically in remission, thanks to my wife, Bobbie. He hated people who drank irresponsibly. And with her attitude and beliefs, I tried not to disappoint her. Throughout our marriage, I failed many times, but for the most part, my drinking was under control.

I didn’t like drinking at home, so I drank in bars and lounges. That meant I would have to drive or have a convenient designated driver with me at all times. This was not a practical thought. Being an alcoholic, who thinks about the practice? Actually, he wasn’t a regular boss anywhere. I was an irregular customer who needed to jump from one establishment to another. I’d be bored to drink in one place. This is what would get me in trouble with the law: drinking and driving.

Later Bobbie passed away in 2001, he was a lost soul. I was in pain and I didn’t want to feel this kind of pain. Now he was completely alone and he hated it. Without Bobbie, Wanted to die. My drinking came out again in full force. This land pig saw his shadow. And it meant more than six weeks of winter. It meant two and a half years of pure hell: drinking. I was able to hold onto my work for some misguided miracle, or maybe Bobbie was my guiding angel. I believe in angels. I was a mess. My self esteem no longer mattered. He would drink one day and be very sick for four. This is where my progression from alcoholism took me. Every weekend he would be seriously ill in bed after a folder. I wouldn’t answer the phone or the doorbell if it rang.

I fell from the bottom. Bottoms out. I was cited for a DUI. Then I drank more. I didn’t stop drinking for two and a half months later. Believing in God , my higher power, I gave up my weakness. I got sober. I complied with the penalties and obligations that the law imposed on me and carried out my sobriety plan for life. For once in my life, I got rid of the gorilla. And what weight he had carried on me. I’ve been sober ever since.

What George jones, I stopped drinking before he left me. objective Bobbie the memory lives on. Like the song, it may be his memory that kills me. I pray to God it won’t be drinking that will kill me. If my life ends up being sober, I would rather die sober and have Bobbie memory ruins me.

I want Bobbie memory to live, but not necessarily to kill me. If that means living in pain, so be it. God knows … I miss her so much. I have wonderful and happy memories. Memories can’t really kill you if you live your life sober. Sobriety is a safe harbor. Memories can somehow prevent you from living if you don’t move on in your life.

If someone says that life gets easier over time, after the death of a loved one, it really hasn’t happened to them. I mean it is not necessarily true. Everyone suffers differently. Human nature tells us to comfort the afflicted. So what else is there to say other than “give it time, time will heal your pain”?

I guess it’s true that I feed my pain. Bobbie it is a constant presence in my life. I heard another cliche that is often used, “you have to move on in your life.” What if I don’t want to move on? My front yard has a memorial garden in memory of my wife. My computer screen has Bobbie picture there. I created a website in honor of Bobbie and for the benefit of cancer research. I play music that Bobbie taste. I look at pictures and read the cards and letters that we have given each other. I surround myself with Bobbie regards. Will I ever stop revisiting his memory? Probably never. Will I ever move on Now that, I don’t know. I tried to have a relationship with a girlfriend who moved in with me two years later. Bobbie transmitted. It did not work. There were many reasons why it was not a successful courtship. I’d rather not go there.

I know in my heart that Bobbie I don’t want to see myself like this. She would like to see me happy and move on. I remember him telling me many times after my mother and aunt passed away, that he shouldn’t turn his memories into a sanctuary. At the time, I thought she was being ruthless when she said that. But, he was right, he was probably building a shrine to preserve the memories. I didn’t see anything wrong with that.

The pain of the memories fades with time, if you wish. The only time the pain goes away is when I write my feelings in a story. It is the best therapy for me that I have discovered. I guess that means if I keep writing stories about my memories and feelings that I have for Bobbie, I’ll be fine. So I guess if drinking doesn’t kill me, your memory will. And I mean it in a positive way. Thanks, Jorge, for singing that song.