Another Chicory Novel
Star,
I remember the hate, the anger, the desperate feelings of what to do. Maybe I was luckier, as my mom was never the "soccer mom" type. she was always lost in her own world, and pretty verbally abusive. My dad was also an alcoholic. She divorced him when I was 12, he left to move many states away, and then she went to work in a bar, her first job ever, and became an alcoholic, a vodka fiend. meaner than ever.
my sisters had it the worst, as they were younger, but i got married at 16 and left. the other two had to face the wrath each night, tho i stayed in touch with the situation. i had a little brother too, who was born from her second marriage,(he divorced her soon after their child was born, due to her being at a bar with friends all the time), and he was very small when she was at her worst. he suffered so much damage from her drunken evil ways. she took him to drinking parties, was mean to him, etc. we begged our step dad who was the nearest thing to a loving parent that we had ever had, to take our brother from her- he had him most of the time anyway, thank God. He got full custody, and then she had complete freedom to drink more than ever. She spiraled , over losing her only son,and fell deeper into her disease. Lost a good job in a factory that she had gotten, by bringing vodka in her thermos.
she went on to verbally and mentally abuse my sisters daily, by falling down drunkeness. she would pass out smoking, burn holes in her chair. her bedroom was full of vodka bottles, under and in every box. She was the original hoarder- the one they coined the phrase for, I think. My sisters would stay with me a lot, and we all hated her so much. we made fun, we planned, and imagined horrid things(we were really hurting). No one ever suggested we try to get her to AA- we did not know anything about it, people in our town were just drunks or normal. I figure someone there must have been a recovering alcoholic, for our small town had three bars , one gas station, and one grocery store.
My sisters both got pregnant, married and moved. both under 18. we watched from a distance as mother drank her self into losing a kidney. we did not listen to her complain about her health, as she had done that all through our childhoods. we were never the children, she was. her doctor would prescribe pain meds, all kinds of stuff, tylenol with codeine. daily she took so many, and it probably sped up her death. after she lost a kidney, we were not there for her, in the hospital or after she came home. we were disgusted at her, when she was in the hospital, for she had not taken care of herself at all. we did not visit her after she came home much and she spent a while alone, her sisters did things for her, tho.. not drinking, but still sick, mentally and physically. we would not listen to her, we did not feel sympathy, not for a long while. finally, we began to go visit her, and to spend time. she was never really well after that, for she had ruined her heart too.
we basically avoided being close, tho she wanted to be a mom to us, finally. we just did not let her close.she had her good ways, her talents. she was such a good cook, and she fed us all when times were tight( as she was on disability by then , and by now I was divorced and raising three children on my own) I stayed with her for a month or two, between jobs. she was still not great with children, but she loved her grandkids. just was grumpy a lot. they have pretty good memories, tho they knew she was cranky and picky, they liked the times we spent there.
I remember once, i wrote her, in my depression, and told her that I needed her to be a mom to me, that I missed having her in my life. she wrote me back, so excited, and told me that she had such regrets about how her life had affected her children. she wanted a chance to be a mother and to be there for me. but something clicked in my mind, and during a call to her, while trying to talk about things, i told her that I took it back- to forget I ever wrote that letter. that i did not feel able to be close. it broke her heart, and later she told me that she tore up my letter . I kept the one she had excitedly wrote to me. it haunts me now, to know i hurt her so deeply, by taking back my request. I can't change that. I wish I had known then what i know now, about this disease. I might have been able to detach with more love.
Before she died, we were not there for her. She was in such a depressed state, she did not even want to get together for Christmas with us. We just let it be, it hurt, and it worried us, but we could not make her better . pain meds and her bad health was taking a toll. They called me at work telling me she had been found dead- she had either fallen( she had this crazy big dog, Tessa, who she loved so much and was forever getting under her feet) and hit her head, or she had had a heart attack. I hope whatever it was, that she did not suffer.
I remember a few weeks before, driving by her house, thinking how much she would love it if I offered to pick up some fast food for her. she loved MacDonalds. but I didnt, i felt badly, but I avoided being held captive by her talking and talking, and hanging on to my visit. I wish I had now. she was only 57 years old. she could draw the prettiest princesses. she had a lovely voice, and was forever humming as she cooked. she loved westerns, iced tea, and reading scary or western books. and her roasts were to die for.
And for someone so consumed by alcoholism and depression, she had a wonderful heartfelt laugh. To this day, I cannot laugh. Not like I wish I could, anyway.
A lot of wonderful people are taken on that death ride of alcoholism. We cant get them off the train, no matter how hard we try. The conductor promises them fun, escape from their worries, fears, and insecurities. It is such a relief for them that they will trade everything they own for it. The only thing that stops them is a train wreck, and often by then they are so damaged , there is not much life left, if they survive the wreck at all.
Some are lucky, and survive. But they have to want to , and they have to mend themselves, we cant do it. it is like they have to rewire their whole being , on their own, with support that comes from others who know where they have been for all those years. We cant begin to know how it is in their minds. I do know that I hate alcohol, with a passion that I have to keep under wraps, for it is not possible that it will ever be banned. I have to let that go.
I had to forgive myself for the anger - that would not have happened if my parents had been loving and not alcoholics. I grew up in a twisted fashion as a result of the sick lessons I was taught as a child. A recovering alcoholic that I met in cosmetology school claimed that she felt a bond with me, and she knew that I had been affected by alcohol. she talked me into going to ACA meetings. finally I realized that i was not crazy, I was just sick from being brought up by sick people.What a difference that made in my life.
There is healing to be had, but you have to get it for yourself. detach from her problems. get help for you , your sister, and encourage your father to do so. that is the only hope for healing from the disease of alcoholism.It just does not go away, even when your alcoholic is gone from your life.
I am sorry for the book, novel, actually. I just know how much anger, pain, and disgust you are feeling. and I am so sorry. I wish this never had to happen to another child, or anyone , ever.
hugs
chicory