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

A song written by R. Beresford AND H. Sanders and sung by the living legend of country music, George Jonestitled, If the drink doesn’t kill me (Her memory will)it has a very different meaning to me today.

In my case, this song was left open to interpret the meaning however the listener liked. IN George Jones’ case, it was rumored that he lived the song with vivid colors. If his drinking didn’t kill him, the memory that would kill him was about his then-deceased, wonderful wife. The First Lady of Country Music, Tammy Wynette. The song was most likely meant to describe the hurtful and self-destructive ways a broken relationship or divorce can have on a person unable to cope with the disappointment of a failed relationship.

On a more serious note, my rendition of this song packs a more deadly punch than divorce. It means eternal pain from the permanent loss of my soulmate, my husband, my wife, and my once very happy life.

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

If the drink doesn’t kill me (Her memory will)

The bars are all closed

It’s four in the morning

It must have shut them all down

From the shape I’m in

I put my head on the wheel

And the trumpet begins to sound

The whole neighborhood knows

That I’m drunk at home again

Chorus:

And if the drink don’t kill me

Her memory will

I can’t take much longer

The way I feel

With the blood of my body

I could still start mine

And if the drink don’t kill me

Her memory will

These old bones move slowly

But so sure of their steps

As I sit on the floor

And tap down

God it was ten bottles

Since I tried to forget it

But the memory still lingers

Lying here on the ground

Chorus:

And if the drink don’t kill me

Her memory will

I can’t take much longer

The way I feel

With the blood of my body

I could still start mine

But if I drink don’t kill me

Her memory will…

END

Almost six years have passed – since the terrible disease of cancer took the life of my beloved wife, Bobby. He beat her so badly that she could no longer think straight and had no control over some of her bodily functions. She fought the merciless demon to the end. But like some evil crusades, they sometimes win.

I’ve always been a beer drinker. I do not deny this. I am an alcoholic. However, my disease was almost in remission – thanks to my wife, Bobby. She 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 controlled.

I didn’t like drinking at home, so I drank in bars and lounges. This meant I would have to drive or have a suitable designated driver be with me at all times. This was not a practical thought. Being an alcoholic, who thinks practice? I was not a regular defender anywhere. I was an irregular customer who had to hop from one establishment to another. I would get bored drinking in one place. That’s what would get me in trouble with the law – drinking and driving.

after Bobby passed away in 2001, I was a lost soul. I was hurt and I didn’t want to feel this kind of pain. Now I was alone and I hated it. without Bobby, I wanted to die. My drink came out full force again. This groundhog saw his shadow. And that meant more than six weeks of winter. It meant two and a half years of pure hell – drinking. I was able to keep my job by some unseemly miracle, or maybe Bobby he was my guiding angel. I believe in angels. I was a mess. My self-esteem no longer mattered. I would drink one day and be very sick for four. This is where my breakthrough from alcoholism took me. I would be violently ill in bed every weekend after a lace up. I wouldn’t answer the phone or the ring if it rang.

I fell off the deep end. I hit rock bottom. I was cited for a DUI Then I drank more. I didn’t stop drinking until two and a half months later. Believing in Mr. , my highest strength, I surrendered my weakness. I sobered up. I fulfilled the penalties and obligations the law placed on me and followed my lifelong sobriety plan. For once in my life, I got the gorilla off my back. And what a weight it had carried on me. I have been sober ever since.

like George Jones, I let him drink before he left me. But Bobbie’s the memory lives on. Like the song, it may be the memory of it that will kill me. I pray for him Mr. it won’t be the drink that kills me. If my life ends up being sober, I’d rather die sober and do it Bobbie’s remind me

I want Bobbie’s memory to live, but not necessarily to kill me. If it means living in pain, so be it. God knows – I miss him terribly. I have wonderful, happy memories. Memories really can’t kill you if you live your life sober. The return is a safe harbor. Memories can somehow stop you from living if you don’t move forward in your life.

If someone says that life gets easier with time after a loved one has died, it really hasn’t. I mean that’s not necessarily true. Everyone grieves differently. Human nature tells us to comfort the bereaved. So what else is there to say but, “Give it time, time will heal your pain.”

I guess it’s true that I nurse my pain. Bobby it is a constant presence in my life. I hear another cliché that is often used, “you have to move on in your life.” What if I don’t want to continue? My front yard has a memorial garden in loving memory of my wife. My computer screen has Bobbie’s photo there. I created a website in his honor Bobby and to benefit cancer research. I play that music Bobby liked. I look at pictures and read the letters and letters we gave each other. I surround myself with Bobbie’s the memories. Will I ever stop reviewing her memory? Maybe never. Will I ever move on? Now that, I don’t know. I tried to be in a relationship with a boyfriend who moved in with me two years later Bobby passed. It didn’t work. There were many reasons why it was not a successful friendship. I’d rather not go there.

I know in my heart, that Bobby I wouldn’t want him to see me this way. She would like to see me happy and move on. I remember that he told me many times after the death of my mother and aunt, not to make a shrine out of their memories. At the time, I thought she was being cold-hearted when she said that. But, she was right, maybe I was building a shrine to preserve the memories. I saw nothing wrong with that.

The pain of memories goes away with time, if you want them to. The only time the pain eases is when I write my feelings into 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 about Bobbie – I’ll be fine. Then I think if the drinking doesn’t kill me, the memory of it will. And I mean that in a positive way. Thank you, Georgeto sing that song.

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