Wake Up, Sweetie
1991 to 1992, Queens, New York
By Maura Muller
“I’ll make sure I die before I go to your wedding.”
I stared at my friend Bobby in horror. He smirked at me. “I’m not kidding. I can’t believe you’re going to do this. I promise you, I will make sure I die before I watch you walk down the aisle with that idiot. This guy is all wrong for you, Sweetie.”
Ever since I had announced my engagement, Bobby, my best friend, had been after me to come to my senses and call it off. He hated my fiancé. And he made no attempt to conceal his feelings. At every opportunity, he introduced me to single male friends of his and conspired at every turn to leave me alone with what he felt were more suitable prospects.
I didn’t get angry. I adored Bobby. I respected his opinion. But I knew that no other man would ever pass his rigorous standards because Bobby had been in love with me himself once, and now he was dying of AIDS.
At first, we talked about his living with AIDS, but now we knew it was only a matter of time. This was a battle he wasn’t going to win. It was 1991. So much was still unknown about the disease. He had gone blind while I was away on my last business trip in Paris.
He called me upon my return. “Sweetie, I have some bad news and some good news. The bad news is that I went blind while you were away, but the good news is I never have to look at you again in those ridiculous and ugly sunglasses you always wear.”
I laughed and sobbed at the same time. How could this be happening? This man I loved like the brother I had always wished for was wasting away before me. Each week, a new infection, a new complication, a new place for the pain to spread, a new medication to test.
Bobby was worried about me. Perhaps he felt I couldn’t take care of myself. We met at an AA meeting a few years before. He was so smart and so funny, I took to him immediately. We became instant friends and began going everywhere together. Meetings, restaurants, movies, plays, the theater.
He was always ready to go out and enjoy life. Our addictions to alcohol and drugs had robbed us both of so many pleasant experiences, and so many years, that now we were making up for lost time.
I was afraid, though, that my years of drugging around would come back to haunt me. I couldn’t fully enjoy my new sober life until I got one last thing cleared up on my “to do” list from my past. One of my boyfriends had been a heroin addict, and I was worried that I could be carrying the HIV virus and not know it.
I told Bobby that I was going to be tested for HIV but that I was terrified - stay-up-at-night-chewing-on-my-fingernails-and-making-deals-with-God terrified. “No problem, Sweetie. I’ll go with you. I’ve been wanting to get tested too.” Bobby’s favorite escape had been heroin.
I got my results on a Friday about two weeks later. Negative. The 2-ton load of guilt, remorse and worry had been tossed off my shoulders. I felt light and free and very, very lucky.
Bobby called me at work the following Monday. “Positive.” The animal groan that escaped my lips had the whole office up and out of their chairs to see what was wrong with me. I needed a drink. Badly. My hands were shaking. I was crying. I couldn’t even talk.
That’s how our journey through his illness began. But, we stayed sober. We were friends. We had a great network of support in our meetings, and Bobby had a big dysfunctional but loving family. We both came from working-class Irish-American backgrounds, and we found so much to laugh at together and to make fun of. We would get through this together.
Bobby teased me that while alcoholism ran in some families, it galloped through mine. He made me laugh. He truly was the brother I had always hoped for.
Except he wasn’t. One day, while I was yammering on about my latest loser boyfriend, he stood up and yelled, “Stop it! I don’t want to hear anymore! Can’t you see that I’m in love with you?!”
I hadn’t seen. Not at all. I had wrongly assumed that since I felt like he was my long-lost brother, he must feel like I was his long-lost sister. I was so wrong.
After a drawn-out, angry and tearful discussion, he told me that he couldn’t be “just friends” with me anymore. I was devastated but respected his wishes. Months passed.
When Bobby finally called and decided that life was simply and truly too short to ignore the people you care about, I was overjoyed. We had missed each other terribly. But his illness had progressed. He had already had his first bout with pneumonia.
From then on, our friendship was like a roller-coaster ride of good times and bad. Wonderful, magical experiences mixed with mind-numbing, terrifying and soul–deadening trips to hospitals that knew so little about HIV and AIDS. Healthy and happy times, and very sick and heartbreaking times.
Yet now, Bobby was trying to help me plan my future since he knew that he wouldn’t be able to be a part of it. I was grappling with what my life would be like without him and how unfair it was that my future children would never meet this most special, kind, and funny man.
Bobby would have been so thrilled to learn that I called off my wedding, but he died on April 11, 1992. He didn’t know. Or did he?
Shortly after his funeral, I was sleeping in bed with my fiancé when a dream woke me. The dream was so real. In it, I was sleeping in bed with my fiancé when Bobby came into the room and grabbed me by the shoulder and shook me. “Wake up Sweetie. You’re about to marry the wrong man. You’re supposed to marry the guy from the video store.”
I woke up with a start. The hair at the back of my neck was standing on end. I had goose bumps on my skin, and my shoulder hurt from where I had been grabbed in my dream. My fiancé was sleeping soundly next to me. I slipped out of bed, scared. “Bobby?” I whispered. “Bobby?”
I walked through the entire house, secretly hoping that I would not find out if ghosts really existed, knowing deep in my heart that I was calling off my wedding. The guy from the video store? Had I ever told Bobby about my secret crush on the guy from the video store? I didn’t think so. But it was true.
For years, I rented videos at a store in my neighborhood. Not to watch movies. I had no time for that. Between AA meetings, college, my full-time job, business trips, and my Saturday job, I had no time for actually watching movies. I rented them because I thought the guy behind the counter was hot. Gorgeous. Smart. Probably gay. Hot. I rented videos. I didn’t even know the guy’s name. Apparently, Bobby didn’t know his name either.
Two weeks passed. I knew I had to call off my wedding, but I was afraid to tell my family and my fiancé. I stopped in the old video store to inquire about the guy that used to work there. I was told he had been gone for about two years. Well, so much for that plan.
Until I started bumping into the guy from the video store. On the New York subway. At the bank. At the pet store. (He didn’t own any pets. He was pet sitting.) Everywhere I went, I saw him. I hadn’t seen him in years. What was going on? Finally, I asked him if he wanted to meet me for coffee.
I knew after meeting Bob for coffee that Bobby had been right all along. I was about to marry the wrong man. I called off my wedding. I moved out. I got an apartment and got on with my life, and I accepted Bob’s offer to marry him some nine months later. I didn’t tell him about my dream until well after our wedding.
This year, we will celebrate 15 years of marriage. We have a 7-year-old son who will one day hear more about his mom’s friend Bobby. Every year on our anniversary, we make a toast. Bob with wine, I with seltzer. It is a simple toast and from our heart. “Thank you, Bobby.”
Maura Muller works in a library, where she can indulge her addiction to reading. She is still hopelessly in love with “the guy from the video store.”
Posted by Elizabeth Armstrong Moore on Friday, July 6th, 2007 | Email This PostThis entry was posted on Friday, July 6th, 2007 at 12:02 am. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.
18 Responses to “Wake Up, Sweetie”
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July 6th, 2007 at 4:18 pm
“Thank you, Maura.” I love experiences about those in the after-life helping us along in this thing we call “life.”
July 6th, 2007 at 7:01 pm
Maura,
You brought back so many memories of what you were going through way back when. I can’t even remember your first fiance’s name. If it wasn’t friggin’ 90 degrees right now, I’d have chills reliving the story!
That was such great reading. Clipped right along, keeping me on the edge of my sweaty seat. I never knew you met Bobby in AA. Thank God for alcoholism, eh?
I love you. Yours is an amazing love story and that you think so enough to put it down in words says a lot about you.
July 7th, 2007 at 2:37 pm
What an amazing story! Thank you so much for sharing it.
July 8th, 2007 at 12:45 pm
This story made me cry and smile all the way through…simply lovely. Thanks!
July 8th, 2007 at 12:55 pm
I am touched by this story, tears running down my face as I write. These days, it is rare enough to find someone to love and marry, and still love them 15 years later. I’m “Bobby” to my dearest friend–a man I love very much, but he does not want romance with me, only friendship, so this story was doubly meaningful to me.
July 8th, 2007 at 1:22 pm
Maura,that you for shareing your story with us. I’m glad that you found the right one! Me I had to make a mistake and get devorced before I found the right one,(we have been married 27 yrs this year)My first marriage was while I was in the Air Force.
We also have one other thing in common you and I and that is A.A.,my soberiety daye is 12/17/90.This is the longest I have been sobet since becomming an adult at the age of 19 that is when I joined the military(big mistake)at 21 I married(an other big mistake).I am glad for several things that I servived all the domb things i did as a young fool,the sever health issued that I went thru,like fluid on the heart and several susicide attempts. I greatfully turned 55 this year.And yes I also believe in the fact that spirits guide ua as needed. God Bless you,your hubby and your chile and one last thing keep putting together those one day at a times.
July 9th, 2007 at 7:25 am
Lovely story Maura. Beautifully written and touching!
July 9th, 2007 at 8:36 am
Thank you all for your kind comments. And Mike, thank you - I hope you keep enjoying life one day at a time, that really is all we have isn’t it?
July 9th, 2007 at 7:21 pm
Maura, I have a big lump in my throat. I remember this all to0 well. I also remember you talking me into having Bobby stay at our apt when he got so sick. Do you remember how pissed he was when we explained to him that he had to use his own silverwear and he had to wash it himself. Wow, the world has come so far with AIDS awareness. I think Bobby was the first straight guy I knew who had it.Remember the way Grandma use to ask about him. What does he have, is he ok? He is so lovely Maura. He was part of the family. Gramma loved him. I think he had her ear. Everytime something came on TV about AIDS we were glued to the TV. Will they find a cure tomorrow, that was back years ago. Boy, did we love Bobby. I totally forgot how in love he was with you. He was always the one person who could make you laugh. He was so brutally honest. He made sobriety enjoyable. He hated the idea you worked for Claud Montana, he would have rather have seen you waitress at the diner. You were such and amazing friend to him. To me you were everything to him, Sister, nurse , AA buddy, and an amazing friend. If it were’n't for you and your relationship with Bobby I wouldn’t have my McKenna. Well. I would have her but her name wouldn’t be McKenna Watson.
I can always hear Bobby saying, remember where we came from–never get to big for your britches. He thought it was funny that we said we were never going to have kids ever–and if we did we were going to name them McKenna. The name and memory lives on.
Great piece Maura. Oh, by the by I would have stayed home with Bobby if you had married that rocker.
July 11th, 2007 at 9:16 am
This was the best.
July 11th, 2007 at 9:49 am
Hello, Maura,
I\’m the one who called you this morning, out of the blue.
This is such a moving and beautifully written story. If I have to compete with this, I don\’t have much chance.
Idore
July 11th, 2007 at 11:12 am
I have been thinking about what Nancy said, about being someone’s “Bobby”. That must be very, very hard. But Nancy, if your friend loves and cares for you as much as I suspect he might, then how lucky you are if you can accept the limitations of that love. I wish you peace in that.
Idore, you don’t have to compete. That’s the beauty of this site. Each person’s story is their very own, and so beautiful in their uniqueness.
July 22nd, 2007 at 6:53 pm
Maura,Yes all we have is one day at a time.My late Dad had a great saying,”one is too many and a Vat would not be enough.” I still miss him,he passed away in 1984.The beutiful thing about life is the adventure that we travel.
My Wife did a great thing for me she stopped drinking just to make it easier for me to stay on the sober path.
In A.A. I once heard a great message,”if you feel the need to drink,wait for 5 minuites and do something to take you mind off the urge and it goes away.” That was given by a fellow A.A. member.
I thought that I’d throw this into the mix,as a peice of advise that was given to me,besides you have to give it away in order to say sober.God Bless.Mike G.
August 6th, 2007 at 12:16 pm
And there was the celebration at the calling off of your wedding…you, Micki and I did so by skydiving on the east end of Long Island. Three girls in control of our fate. I remember how we were the only ones out of the class who got to jump…and with a female pilot too!
THANK goodness for Bobby and for your good sense. You married a gem, and yes, I still think so after your fifteen 15!!! years of marriage.
September 4th, 2007 at 9:11 pm
WOW…. I\’\'m blown away by your tale of a huge part of what defines who you are, and yet one I\’ve never heard before. Great read. Keep it up.
November 7th, 2007 at 9:52 am
Hi Maura, what a great story. I don’t know if you remember me, but I am Bobby’s youngest sister. He used to call me “The Little One”, which, now that I am over 40 is quite amusing. Your Mom gave Christine a copy of this story and she gave it to my sister Katie who circulated it to our family. We were all so touched reading it, we laughed, we cried, we reminisced about the many “Bobby stories”. I am so happy that Bobby was able to guide you to the right decision. It was also so nice to read that your cousin named her daughter McKenna, what a wonderful tribute. I had also forgotten how crazy about you Bobby was, but I do remember him borrowing my car so that he could take you out.
November 13th, 2007 at 2:48 pm
Wow Eileen. Yes, I remember you! How nice to hear from you and to know that your family was able to share this story. It was so silly of me to think that Bobby thought of me as a sister - he already had so many!! I forget - are there 4 or 5 of you? Plus his brother. I\’m so sorry that I cannot remember everyone\’s names. I\’ve managed to stay sober all these years, but I still have such a foggy memory! I was so distraught the day of Bobby\’s funeral, I don\’t even remember what cemetery he is buried in. I just remember it being huge.
I was actually going to name my child, McKenna. I was pregnant and keeping the name a secret. My cousin called during my pregnancy and said, \”Guess what? I\’m pregnant with a girl and we are naming the baby McKenna!\” I thought it would be strange to have two McKennas in the family, especially since the kids would be so close in age. But no matter, I still think of Bobby often and keep a tiny picture of him on my nightstand. He is crossing the finish line of a race during our brief acquaintance with jogging and running, before we decided it was more fun to stay home and watch movies and eat popcorn! Send my regards to your whole family and thank you for reading my story!
April 10th, 2009 at 7:56 pm
Hi guys, intervention are a best way to overcome the drug addiction. So, please encourage your family members or friends to go on with intervention if they drug addicted.
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thomas maximus