Breathe
I married Alex Coyle on July 11, 1986. His looks alone could stop you in your tracks. He was unassuming, kind and lean, gentlemanly and fatherly and gone way too soon. He considered everyone his peer and his equal — from the beer delivery guy to the school custodian, to the local comic and the wealthy business man on a balcony in a luxurious hotel, or a sports celebrity standing next to him at a craps table. If you sat at his bar or walked through his door, most likely he remembered you and your name.
In 2019, Rachel was spending her first Thanksgiving away with her now current husband Matt, and his family. After multiple attempts, our dear friend Martha had finally been able to join us for a Thanksgiving dinner. Dr. Robert & Liane Coyle, Alex’s parents, had just moved into our home on August 12th, three months earlier. Their crossroads had met with our timeline and space, and the desire to share our home. Liane was a late night owl and would often greet Alex when he arrived home from the club where he had taken on the role to manage the bar after retiring from his career in education. It was to a special and lovely time for all of us.
Alex’s last breath was at home on Thanksgiving night, November 28, 2019. He had suffered for over twenty years from an undiagnosed condition where he would often feel a tightening in his throat during meals. These events became more frequent and pronounced as time went on and eventually took his life. His condition created situations where we believed he would go into anaphylaxis shock. His throat would tighten and constrict and almost fully block his air passage – his breathing being curtailed immensely. Some of these occurrences were seconds or minutes long, and some would last thirty, forty minutes or even longer.
During a couple of rare events the left side of his face drooped like he was having a stroke. The grip that this condition had on all of us, especially Alex, was maddening. Because of the unknown nature of his suffering, it floated above us like a dark cloud for the better part of our lives. Although he had learned to stay away from some foods and possible triggers, (or at least tried), his attacks had become more frequent as his athletic body gracefully aged. He felt he had it under control and was never medically diagnosed – a step we pleaded for him to take.
Alex made his choices and lived with them, good or bad. Not to say he didn’t care about his condition; he had heard of, and brushed up against enough information through his own research and annual doctor’s appointments to make moderations he felt he could live with. And even if he had been told emphatically what steps to take or exact foods to avoid, I’m not convinced he would have adhered whole-heartedly. Alex ultimately did what Alex wanted to do.
The tragedy of his death was followed by Robert and Liane moving back to their home town in San Antonio on March 12th, 2020, three months after Alex’s death. Then, three days later on March 15th, Cap City Comedy closed temporarily from the pandemic. My options were beginning to narrow with a closed comedy club, a mortgage, and a pandemic that seemed unstoppable, and still does. The obvious decision to sell our home came into play. As the pandemic continued to worsen, I no longer had the will to physically or mentally participate in a business partnership that had peaked long before the pandemic. The beloved, troubled, messy, awesome, and amazing Cap City Comedy was no longer available as an option. Two loves of my life were gone.
Rachel’s presence in Dallas became my primary focus. She needed me and I most definitely needed her. The torch that Rachel carries full of joy, love, fun, kindness, compassion, amazing instincts and resilience will always be one that I will follow. Her strength is my heartbeat. Rachel and I spent months traveling back and forth from Dallas to Austin until the time had come to share similar zip codes with Rachel, and very caring and life-long friends, Becky and John.
It has been an excruciatingly long and painful two and a half plus years which also included the loss of another wonderful and loving human being, Dr. Robert Alexander Coyle, Alex’s father. I know there will come a time when these soul-wrenching daggers filling the past thirty months will gracefully meld into their forever homes in my heart. And, I have also come to understand that the pain will never be completely gone as it resides in my chest to remind me of my knees.
For now though, I will work on relying less on wine, (maybe), and more on hope and Love. In comparison to others on this earth, my losses scale incredibly small. Grief is a lifelong diagnosis and this club does not spare anyone, eventually everyone is admitted. And, grief is most certainly survivable and illuminating – if you look for it, you will find the light. I am learning to embrace the only guarantee in life which is that we will all stop breathing one day. So breathe now. Breathe in and out for as long as you can. There are birds, trees, flowers, airplanes in beautiful blue skies, and Rachels everywhere for you to see when you look for them. Find your window and breathe.
