When Trauma Changes Everything: Friends, Boundaries, and What Remains

Here on this blog I have already written several times about a traumatic event I went through. What exactly that event was, I have so far not gone into in detail. And even now, I will keep it limited.

It is often the things that affect me most deeply that are hardest to talk about.

That traumatic event was somewhat like a domino effect. It set many things in motion—events that came on top of it, each of which I also had to deal with in its own right.

Friends who suddenly stopped being available when I felt the need to talk about it. That is why I went looking for a therapist. But I couldn’t find one. And a friend who initially seemed to offer a listening ear, but who ultimately turned out not to be entirely selfless in doing so.

And then there was Rosario, who offered me practical help. But who, in the meantime, also displayed behaviour that crossed boundaries.

To be able to talk about this, I need to say something about what actually happened. But even the idea of going into it feels like a weighted vest pressing down on my torso.

It was my partner who, while abroad, was struck by a severe epileptic seizure. He suffered three cerebral haemorrhages, went into a coma, and never recovered from it.

An impressive build-up, with a sad outcome.

I will probably come back to that in more detail at some point.

But for now, I want to tell the story of Rosario.

My partner and I met Rosario and his girlfriend Babette when I was still looking for a house in Sicily. I wanted to buy a house there, not to live there permanently, but to spend time there regularly. Rosario and Babette actually live there. My partner and I stayed in occasional contact with them. When that ‘accident’ (that is what I will call it for now) with my partner had just happened, Rosario was the first person I called. That had to be in Italian, because Rosario doesn’t speak any languages that I speak. That was exhausting. I had learned some Italian; I can manage, but I am not fluent. Rosario said he would pick me up the next morning by car so we could go to the hospital together.

My partner had had an epileptic seizure before. So I was convinced I would find him conscious. But he was in a coma, on a ventilator, and I was told very clearly that the situation was critical. He had three brain haemorrhages that had not yet stopped. The information registered, but not what it actually implied. I was glad Rosario was there. Under normal circumstances I would have realized I needed to inform my partner’s family and contact the health insurance company. But now it was Rosario who had to point this out to me. I did not think of it myself.

A few days later Rosario called. The hospital had asked if we could come in. My partner was still in a coma, but had been moved to another ward, and the doctor there wanted to speak to me. We were told that my partner would most likely not survive. And even if he did, he would in any case never be able to live an independent life again.

Rosario suggested going for lunch at an authentic restaurant in the mountains. It sounds far away, but by car it’s only fifteen or twenty minutes. “Just to relax a bit”, he said. It helped, being briefly in that uncomplicated atmosphere, postponing the misery of my partner’s situation for an hour, and enjoying the good food.

A week after the accident, we were asked to come to the hospital again. Something no one had expected anymore had nevertheless happened. My partner had come out of his coma and was conscious. On the way to the correct hospital ward, Rosario walked behind me. He said he liked my derrière. I did not like that. But at that moment I did not feel I had the space to make a big deal out of it. I wanted to see my partner. So I closed it off with: “Thank you for the compliment”.

Although Dutch is our native language, my partner strangely spoke only English, and in a remarkably articulate way he would never previously have been capable of. He did not recognize us, however. So I repeated my name several times. “My girlfriend also listens to the name Diana”, he said. “I am so grateful you remind me of her.”

He told a romantic story about how he and his girlfriend Diana had once met in Rome, how beautiful life was with her, how wonderful it was to eat and sleep with her… and he even mentioned a few sexual fantasies. (I can tell you: we were never in Rome together, and those fantasies… were purely fantasies.)
Because Rosario does not speak English, I later told him in the car how the conversation between my partner and me had gone. My partner had, among other things, said that he and his girlfriend Diana did “it” everywhere and at any time, wherever possible…

“Oh”, Rosario asked, “where did you do it then, according to him?”

I said: “How should I know… everywhere and all the time.”

“Also in your ass?” Rosario asked.

“Huh?” “No, of course not. He probably meant on the beach or in the shower, or something”, I tried to correct the misunderstanding.

“That is actually where my preference lies,” Rosario added, “in the ass.”

“I don’t want to know that”, I replied.

Rosario said he wanted a storia with me. That he and Babette had not been intimate for a long time. I could not believe he would make such a proposal at such a moment, under such circumstances. He asked what I thought about it—and whether I wanted it too. I did not know how to respond. I can’t express myself very well in Italian, and I wanted to avoid a discussion. So I suggested I would email him my answer, so I could use a translation tool. 

When he dropped me off at my house, he tried to kiss me on the lips. I quickly got out of the car and said: “I will let you know today”. 

Exhausted by the situation with my partner, I now also had to deal with diplomatically rejecting Rosario.

After I sent my email to Rosario, I received a reply within seconds. He said he agreed with me, and that our friendship was more important to him.

I never saw or heard from Rosario again.
Featured in SATURDAYS with Diana "Are Friends Still Really Friends?" Read the issue → Photo: Daniele Salutari

PS: I’ve since written a five-part series detailing what exactly happened to my partner. You can read it here.