Control | Sal Vulcano

ch. 21

That night, when he came home from the hospital, a dial in him switched. Something changed him from that night on to the night where he put a gun to his head. When I heard that Brian had died, I knew nothing was going to be the same anymore. When I found out about Sal drinking again, I knew he wasn't going to go sober again, no matter how hard he tried- if he did try.

I did cry. I cried because my son won't grow up with a father. He won't have the man in his life that's supposed to complete his jigsaw puzzle of a childhood. I didn't cry because Sal took his life. Actually, I felt relieved. It felt horrible for feeling this way, but I couldn't help it. If he had lived longer, he wouldn't have been able to get better and I know that I would live through hell with him. Every night in bed, I feel his presence right beside me. I always reminisce the good memories I had with Sal. I can remember the first time I saw him; sitting across from me in the support group with his hair gelled over and his green eyes through his glasses. He looked beautiful. Before I said a word to him, it's like our souls had already connected. The next day next day he had asked if I wanted to grab some coffee with a shy grin on his face and rosy cheeks. He was so sweet, and he sometimes reminded me of a little kid. Sal had an innocent soul in him; always caring about others, constantly smiling at the little things, and he always had seemed to enjoy life- even when things were going wrong.

He was the love of my life. He proposed to me in front of his fans. I miss his dimples. I miss his green eyes. I miss his curly hair. Why haven't I cried over his death? Because I have been through this once before. The last time I went through it, I wasted a portion of my life trying to convince myself that Dan didn't try to hurt me and that I'm just making this stuff up. I can't do that again. I believed Dan was the love of my life. I believed Sal was the love of my life. But I also tried making myself believe that they were just watching out for me- even if they weren't.

I still loved Sal even if I was scared to death every time we were home at the same time. I love him, but I hate him. I hate him because he left me with this baby in my lap, rocking back and forth trying to keep him calm. He's selfish. He's a coward. He's a coward because he tried running away from the real world. He's selfish because he took his own fucking life for not being able to face reality.

But believe me, Sal, you were the greatest thing that has happened in my life and I will never forget about you. You've always known how to love someone, care for someone, know someone, and you're not like any other person I have met in this world. I will always love you, no matter how much I will say I hate you for leaving me this way. You taught me not to live in the past, and you taught me that no matter what happens, life will go on. Because of you, I have learned to grow up. I hate that this baby will always be a reminder of the man who made me feel what true love is, but who also made me scared to fall asleep every night.

Every breath that I'm taking right now is making me forget what your touch felt like and how your kiss was. I would give up anything right now to go back to the day I had met you. I would give up anything so that I could love you as much as you loved me. That was the reason, wasn't it? You killed yourself so you wouldn't have to live through the thought that I didn't love you, and I'm sorry. But sorry doesn't help, right? Everyday, I'll think of you. Everyday, I'll be missing you. Everyday, I will take care of our baby boy until he grows up to become a man you once were. This boy will have the same sense of humor as you, the same personality- kind, loving, and caring- and the same heart as you.

I know you didn't want to hurt me, Sal. I know you had no intention of scaring me. I know you loved me through everything, even if the alcohol spoke over your words. But this is the end of a chapter in my life, and it's time to write a new one.

                                           Goodbye, Sal.
Always with you, Diana.