Just Say 'No'

There is a reason why I didn’t go to the morgue to see my lover’s body one last time. It was not because I cannot tolerate the sight of a corpse. I was in denial about his death and how it all ended so abruptly.

Four years have already passed and I am the only one who knows the truth.

He killed himself.

An overdose on Tylenol did the trick. How was I supposed to know that headache medicine, when used in bulk, will send us to an early grave?

Because we were not married, I did not have the legal right to order a blood transfusion. I told the doctor’s in the emergency room to proceed with whatever procedures were necessary to keep him alive.

The family held a different set of beliefs and threatened to sue me because I told them to go ahead with pouring someone else’s blood into his veins.

“Look lady, you may be his mother but I am his lover and this is New York City. I have rights.”

“I pray for your soul,” his momma told me over the phone, refusing to fly from Los Angeles to be at her son’s side during those last few moments.

The physician hinted at a suicide attempt but I cut him off at the pass.

“Tylenol? Tylenol caused this? How many did he take?”

“Lots of them. He had hepatitis and HIV. The chemicals from the drug are attacking his liver, which was already in a fragile state,” the doctor informed.

“He had what? Oh dear God. You must be joking!”

“Are you his partner?”

“Well, I suppose so. I mean it was all very weird, our relationship. But yes, yes, I am his lover.”

“He probably is not going to make it, perhaps you should start making arrangements.”

“Arrangements? Arrangements for what? He’s not going to die. Look he just moved when I touched him.”

“That’s nerves Mr. Taylor. Even if he does return he will not be the same. The toxins have already destroyed most of his brain.”

I went back to the house where we both lived together for only two short months.

I found a Valentine’s Day card I had given him two months ago lying on the window ledge. Inside was a thin rectangular Certs container filled with at least thirty Ecstasy pills.

I knew the suicide was real and from his death bed, and with my own words, he was asking me to follow him.