Jamie, the alcoholic wants to die, but then again...
"Whispers of Love"
"Look out boy-watch it-swerve, swerve away-turn, turn the wheel. Give me the wheel son!" A pickup truck, trying to pass a slow car, crashed head-on into a vehicle that a boy and his father were in. The collision looked like a frontline military target. Mangled bodies is an inadequate description of the father and son.
For over eight years, the wife and mother of the victims, Jamie Cardinal, suffered from stress. She was 48 at the time of the accident, and in her loneliness began attending parties and weekend getaways with girlfriends. Fermented grain was the life of the party. They drank scotch, gin, vodka and tequila in a variety of mixtures, and they loved their intoxication more than hippies love their joints. None of the gals ever became too sick or passed out, but they did get so intoxicated that their breath reeked and their urinary whispers were voluminous. On sobering up, they couldn't remember how they got drunk.
Jamie became a puffy, slightly saggy and bulbous looking 51-year-old and became worse as the years passed. She lived in a small New York apartment scattered with shoes, purses and varying books, tapes and DVDs. It was at this age that she began to drink alone beside her weekend jaunts with her lady friends. She started by drinking only after six; soon she drank before noon, and her alcoholism progressed to where she had screwdrivers for breakfast.
Jamie's lifestyle remained much the same until she was 56 when she met a man she liked. Mel, an owner of a liquor store Jamie frequented, became interested in her and often struck up conversations. He soon asked her out, and they went to excellent restaurants, enjoyed weekend picnics, took hikes in the country and went swimming once in awhile.
The two of them regularly dated as Jamie tried and tried to cut down on her habitual drinking. Mel brought her drinking up one evening while they walked around the nearby lake.
"Jamie, I realize the efforts you've put forth to drink less," said Mel. "I appreciate your suffering and commiserate with you; I also was an alcoholic for two years after my wife died. You'll get over it."
"You sweetheart," whispered Jamie. Tears wandered down her cheeks. "You beautiful sweetheart; I love you, Mel."
"I love you too."
The next afternoon three senior ladies dropped into Mel's store. "May I help you?" asked Mel.
"We've been friends with Jamie for years, and she told us how happy you made her. We're genuinely sorry for what has happened?" .
"What! What happened?"
"Jamie is dead sir; you came along too late. We found this: 'Dear diary, I am so alone and so tired of living, I'm going to drink myself to death.'"
"She entered this on August 15th, her 57th birthday. Jamie died of cirrhosis of the liver. The last entry was written a few days ago and reads, 'Dear Lord, don't let me die now, I don't want to die, please, let me live. I love Mel, let us be together forever.'"
Mel whispered, "Oh no, please. Please go. My …"
Mel's tears welled up, and he cried.