THE BOND THAT CANNOT BREAK – OUR LIFE, OUR LOVE, OUR ETERNITY

THE BOND THAT CANNOT BREAK – OUR LIFE, OUR LOVE, OUR ETERNITY

By Debra Evelyn Costello

It was August 1994 — the kind of heat that clung to your skin, made the air heavy, and pressed the smell of saltwater deep into your lungs.

And me? I was walking around with dark hair in a flopped perm I couldn’t stand. I wanted it gone, wanted the weight of it off my head, but I’d settled for tying it back and pretending I didn’t hate every strand.

The streets of Magaluf were alive. Stalls selling cheap sunglasses and knock-off watches. Bars spilling music onto the pavements. Women in bikinis with sarongs knotted at their hips. Lads in football shirts shouting daft things across the street.

I’d flown out to Magaluf for sun, escape,  from a chance to be free from bad times and maybe a little bit of trouble.  I didn’t know I was about to get all three.

The air was thick with coconut suntan oil and fried food e.g doughnuts, typical British food in a Spanish island resort, yeah you were right a club 18-30 holiday. The kind of holidays which were sun,sea, fun and sex. I wasn't looking for that at all I was out on my own to get away from trauma of being gang raped and cancer of the cervix that I had survived,  yes there were seagulls squawked overhead, the sea stretched out in lazy blue waves, and music from a nearby bar  named the Prince William bar thumped a bass line into the sand.

And then I saw him.

Gary Paul Costello.

Sunlight caught in his blond hair, eyes the colour of the sea on a clear day. He didn’t just glance at me — he looked right through me, like he knew something I didn’t yet. His grin was pure mischief, with a Yorkshire lilt in his voice when he called me Bab for the first time.

We didn’t meet politely. We collided. Words flew like sparks off flint — quick, warm, dangerous.

By nightfall we were walking shoulder-to-shoulder, the strip’s neon lights painting our skin in pinks and blues, our arms brushing now and again in a way that wasn’t accidental.

It wasn’t love at first sight. It was recognition. Like finding a missing piece you didn’t know was missing until it’s there in front of you.

I’ll carry you straight through from ’94 to now, every truth, every wound, every visit, every child, until we reach what happens next.

Chapter 2 – The Years Between: Love and Ruin

Love like ours wasn’t built for smooth sailing. It was fire and storms, laughter so deep it hurt your ribs, and silences so sharp they cut.

We had moments when the world fell away — stolen kisses, inside jokes, the way his eyes softened when he thought I wasn’t looking. But there were other moments, the ones I can’t gloss over: arguments that echoed in my chest for days, broken promises, and the gut-deep hurt of knowing he’d been with other women.

Aye indeed other women he cheated on me while away in the army. He told me I was his only one but he had urges to go off with others.

It wasn’t simple. It never would be. But every time I thought I could walk away, something pulled me back. That tether — invisible but unbreakable — tied somewhere between my heart and his.

And then came the day that tether felt like it snapped.

The day he died.

Chapter 3 – The Day He Crossed Over.

Yes that dreaded day of 12th April 2004. I remember that day like it was yesterday.

I had this horrible gut feeling that something was wrong.

Then I saw what was mine, his face on the television. News reader saying that these soldiers had been killed in actions in Iraq and Afghanistan. There was his face clear as day.

I screamed at the telly and then violently vomited all over the lounge floor. My father came in to see what the commotion was and found me on the lounge floor sobbing and vomit on the floor.

My son was now without a father and how was I going to live without him.

It’s strange what you remember in moments like that.

Yes I am repeating myself but it needed to be told.

The TV was on. I do remember the news was on. Then  suddenly his face was there — not on the screen, but in my mind, sharp and real as if he was standing in front of me.

I screamed. I vomited. The shock was physical, slamming into my chest like a heart attack. My legs went out from under me, and the room tilted.

They say grief is like drowning, but that doesn’t cover it. This was being ripped in half while still breathing. The nightmares that followed weren’t dreams — they were replays. Over and over, watching him die.

I didn’t just lose him. I lost the version of me that existed with him his flesh and blood his touch the way he physically loved me had gone to the next dimension which killed me.

I will truly say this when he died I died half of my soul left to be with him. 

Chapter 4 – The First Return

People will tell you the dead don’t come back.

They’ve never met Gary.

It didn’t happen all at once. First it was songs — ones tied to memories of us e.g (Queen don't stop me now) playing when I was thinking of him. Then it was scents — his aftershave in an empty room, the smell of rain when the windows were closed. His feet which were worst than stilton cheese. The smell of sweat and TCP anticeptic.

And then, the real visit.

I first started using a damp piece of cotton wool and idea from my spirit guide Wallah he said to use it as a conduit, it worked after sessions of Tibetan singing bowls meditations to open my chakra points and align them to the right frequencies.

My guide told me to raise your frequency to him and he will lower his to yours to align together.

The cotton wool conduit opened in my right ear — that strange, muffled, electric hum that always means he’s close. His voice came through, crackly but him. Not some ghostly echo — him.

He told me he loved me. That he was still mine. That he wasn’t letting go. Even though he left me physically and cheated on me with his body.

And then came the visits I couldn’t mistake. Nights when I’d wake to the weight of him on top of me or behind me , the warmth of his breath on my neck. Mornings when I’d smell his scent on my skin. The times he’d touch me — real, physical touch — leaving me shaken, craving more, walking like John Wayne the next day. He would make love to me which I didn't know at the time until I would find bite marks on my neck, stubble burn on my neck or between my legs. I would wake up and feel like I had been on an all night passion session but I was alone.

In 2007 I met a man who took me on and Gary's son James. We married in 2008 but that didn't stop me craving Gary Paul Costello the physical touch.

He would touch me between my legs while I was in bed with my husband in paper but not in real love.

I know he was touching me intimately I didn't know spirit could do that but he had defyed the universe.

Chapter 5 – The Children Between Worlds

Our love didn’t just stay between us. We made a family — some here, some there.

Yes we have children one living child James he is 25 years now.

The most recent one is little Eden she is beautiful. She is a papas girl.

They are all different and they all have different personalities.

They go to school, eat, sleep do everything that earth children would do. Play games and learn.

Eden, our little lamb she is the newest member of our cricket team, 

Yes if you heard right a cricket team hahaha.

Debra, our miracle girl.

She was the baby that was made by spirit (Gary) and me her mama.

I carried her inside me like it was a real true pregnancy she is the most realist baby.

Ellie May was our first child she was an accident made while we were in magaluf..a real baby my first pregnancy after being told I couldn't have children after surgery and cancer in 93. 

But I carried her to full term and then gave birth to her (stillbirth) she was deformed.

I died that day when she was born. 

Yes I had a NDE... ( Near death experience).

He didn't know anything he was too working or on tour for me.

When I wanted him he wasn't there.

, Dylan Paul, he was miscarried down the toilet I was four months pregnant when it happened and alone again.

 Grace Poppy, she went down the toilet again. We tried and tried but no child would stay put I could not carry any he made from his loins.

But I was not prepared to face the truth that I couldn't have anymore children.

 Scott Gary,

 same again he was made and after nearly four months pregnant the same feeling and sensation. The pain and the urge to push. Down the toilet he went. It broke me every time but where was he. Only phone call or letter.

Simon Tobias. My little ginger nut cute little boy in spirit he was miscarried. 

Children I carried in spirit, children born over there where his hands could hold them from the first moment.

The most painful? Debra’s birth.

Here on Earth, I went to bed heavily pregnant, back aching, feeling her shift inside me. I woke flat as a pancake, blood in my pants, milk in my breasts — the physical proof that she had been real. Over there, he’d held her, cried as I squeezed his hand through labour. The doctor had looked at me with something I can only describe as disgust — like he knew I wasn’t from here.

I was a traveller between worlds. And my children were proof.

---

Chapter 6 – Love, Flesh, and the Impossible

This is the part no one believes.

The part where he crosses the boundary — not just spirit, not just dream — and loves me in ways only a living man can.

The bathroom visits.

The nights when he takes me from behind, hands on my hips, his voice moaning in my ear. The moments when I feel him finish inside me, leaving me with the scent of semen  and proof on my skin. Times when he apologises between thrusts for the women he’d been with, as if the act itself is sealing the apology into my body.

I don’t care if it sounds mad. I know what’s real. The love we have is sacred and it's painful. He touches me but I cannot touch him it's a form of torture but it's the only way I keep going.

He actually makes love to me yes I feel his (penis, cock,.dick todger ) whatever you call it I feel him enter me and I feel him thrust and moan in my ear,.I feel him bite my neck actually bite my neck. I have felt him release himself into my body warm and smell of him. 

It euphoric and bloody real.

I am not mad. 

He is mine and I am his we cannot be broken no matter what happens.

True love is unbreakable.

---

Chapter 7 – The Bond That Can’t Be Broken

We’ve fought. We’ve hurt each other.

He’s made choices that shattered me. I’ve said words meant to cut him back.

But the truth is this: every craving I have for him, he has for me. The hunger, the ache, the need to touch and be touched — it’s mirrored.

I’ve begged Wallah to cut the cord. He said it can’t be done.

And now I believe it.

This bond will outlast this life. It will follow me to 6.6.26, the day I’ve set as my return. Whether I go in my sleep or by choice, I’ll go knowing I’ve loved and been loved beyond reason, beyond rules, beyond death itself.

He argue like a married couple, well actually we are a married couple no matter what anyone says.

He have been married for 30 years since 2005 6th June and that wedding was on the other side. 

Chapter 8 – What Comes Next

There’s talk between us — the promise that he will come to me in flesh for one day before the end. One day where I can feel his skin, his heartbeat, see the colour of his eyes in daylight without the veil between us.

I don’t know if it will happen. I do believe in him and that is his solemn oath that he will come back to me for one whole day. But I know this: if it does, I will go with him.

This is the date he has chosen to come and visit me in the flesh.

Saturday, 27th December 2025.

That’s our day. End of the year, just after Christmas, world slowed down, sky low and heavy — perfect for slipping through. You’ll wake up knowing, not guessing. I’ll be there before noon, and we’ll have until the clock tips us into the 28th.

I’ll knock — proper knock — and when you open that door, I’ll be stood there in my green t-shirt, jeans, boots, and my daft grin. You can hit me first if you need to, then I’m taking you in my arms and not letting go until the year’s done.

Mark it, Bab. That’s the day the waiting ends.”

And until then, I’ll keep writing.

Every visit.

Every laugh.

Every bruise, every kiss, every whispered.

Because the world needs to know — true love never dies.

     

Continuing to the next part of this story of true love... 

This love is so strong and beautiful.

He has proven to me that his love is real and hasn't died.

Our path is forward not backwards so we go together as one.

He is my idiot from Yorkshire and I love him. 

True love never dies.