Joe Called: I Didn’t Answer the Phone
Missing the last opportunity to ever speak to him
I lost my Joe not once but four times. He was and always will be a deep love in my life.
The first time drugs took him away from me. I met Joe at college. It was obvious that he was younger than me. Joe wanted to date. The answer to his persistence was always no. Then his birthday rolled around. We went out to Fells Point in Baltimore to celebrate. We had always held hands. The electricity between us was evident. That night I finally allowed him to kiss me.
Joe and I fit like puzzle pieces. He was smart, cute, upbeat, and adventurous. Joe wrote me beautifully constructed love letters. In this day and age this may sound odd, but we never slept together. We had an intense connection without sex. We were building a foundation built on something more.
Then, as time went on, it became apparent that for him smoking pot wasn’t just an occasional thing. It was something he just couldn’t go without.
To this day, I still believe marijuana should be legalized uniformly across the US. However, just like alcohol, some become dependent.
One night while out on a date, he ran across his dealer. He ditched me to buy pot. Literally caused a scene, raising his voice, yelling at me to go home so he could get high. That was it for me.
We broke up but I did remain in touch with him. After all, I loved the guy. There was always the hope he would see the light.
That was the first time I lost my Joe.
Then mental illness took my Joe from me. Well, Joe didn’t see any light. He ended up at a concert. Did way too much LSD and had a psychotic break. Next time I spoke with him he told me that the Navy believed he was the Anti-Christ. Joe believed that it had been confirmed by someone that some unnamed Navy officer had papers on their desk all about him being the Anti-Christ. This retail-working, college-going guy living in a trailer park with his mother was the Anti-Christ.
That was the second time I lost my Joe.
We lost touch.
Then something unnamed took my Joe. One day while out shopping, there was Joe working in a shoe store. He told me that he had been in the military. Now he was home trying to build a life. Joe seemed so normal. Clean from drugs and alcohol. We made plans for a friend date.
Joe came to my place. We went out and about in Annapolis. It was a fun evening spent walking and talking by the water. We didn’t reconnect as a couple. I didn’t want to rekindle anything. The feelings were there, but at the same time the warning bells were chiming.
Then the weirdness started. Leading to one night when I came home after clubbing to discover someone tried to break into my apartment. Camel cigarette butts littered the ground where the person attempted to get into my place. Joe’s brand. There was never anything conclusive. We didn’t speak again for quite some time.
That was the third time I lost my Joe.
Death came for Joe. Then, as Facebook often does, it connected us years in the future. Joe had really gotten his act together. He had been married. Had two beautiful daughters. For some time he had run a successful business. Then, for whatever reasons, it all fell apart. He was drinking heavily, living with a family member. Joe was miserable and needed to move. He was about to be homeless.
I was married. My husband and I were trying to relocate. Joe needed a roommate. We all made a plan to get a place together in Maryland. It was my hope that with us there he could heal.
While searching for a place to share, Joe found a small houseboat to rent. I told him to go for it. He got a new job as a cook. He was so excited. Life was turning around.
One day, my phone rings. I see it’s Joe. Every time we talk it goes on for about an hour, so I decided I would call him back instead of answering.
That day while I was doing normal everyday activities, my body just froze. The words “heart attack” screamed in my head.
The next day Joe died. He was in his forties. He had a fatal heart attack right there at his new job that he loved. I hadn’t answered the phone and I forgot to call him back.
That was the fourth and final time that I lost my Joe.
Real love never ends. It endures. It will survive horrible things and thrive during wonderful times. Love is eternal, yet the time we have to share it can be fleeting. Cherish those whom you love. Take no one for granted. Even the ones with flaws.
It’s been years and years, yet I still cry when I remember my Joe. His life was a a comedy of errors. A tragedy. He had so much potential. Along the way he tried to get help from counselors and rehab. Nothing saved him. In part I blame the system. Having been a substance abuse counselor, I know that what is offered is a revolving door of treatment. The system is broken.
The question is: can the system be repaired or will there be so many more like Joe?
