This is part 1 of a journal I started about my mother. She is 15 years sober now.
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This is part 1 of a journal I started about my mother. She is 15 years sober now.
I was 5. Looking back I had the insight of an adult. Or was it instinct. Maybe an inherent knowledge of what just should not be. It was one of the only nights I can remember my Dad working late. Not even late by current standards, but past 5. We went to Pathmark. It’s not unusual to go to different supermarkets in varying areas, I do it now to find a good deal or a better bakery selection. We had gone to this store before, but why now. It was on the edge of town, there were certainly closer supermarkets and liquor stores. I don’t even remember if she bought any groceries. I do remember her buying me one of those cheap plastic toys in bubble card packaging, though I can’t recall what it was. The next stop was the adjacent liquor store. My mother had never taken me into a liquor store; ever. She had no reason too. My next recollection is glancing at the alarm clock in my parent’s bedroom. It was almost 7 pm. I sat in their bed watching television and when I noticed the time I thought it was strange that my mother was unconscious next to me. She had the presence of mind to try to settle me in for the night first. It was late for me, but my parents certainly stayed up much later. I fell asleep. I couldn’t help it.
If it was a weekday, I don’t remember going to school. I do remember my Dad, with tears barely held back, telling a 5 year old that her mother was an alcoholic. I wonder even now, if he knew before. It was definitely not good parenting to leave a 5 year old unsupervised while you are passed out drunk once, but not something that would instantly signal that this person had a problem. At least not to me. Maybe she had not eaten? A fight yes, a problem, not yet. I knew it was a problem; sort of. I had a memory of her taking a swig out of a liquor bottle before we left my grandpa’s house one day. She made sure no one was looking. She never drank other than that. I don’t know how old I was, but it sits crystal clear in my head to this day. He had to know. I wonder what else I missed. I probably don’t want to know. I don’t want to know what I know now.
From that day on, we had the alternating personality of what I called “weird mom” and “normal mom”. I’m sure there was never actually a “normal mom” but it fit what she should have been the best in my mind. Not drunk at 2 pm. Weeks went by, she was cured! Then it would happen again. It was always a secret, she never drank in front of anyone, it was always hidden somewhere and suddenly she was drunk. Sometimes it was a glass hidden behind the porcelain doll collection, others it was a bottle of vodka slipped between my mattress and box spring. She tried not to wake me, but who would not wake up when the end of their mattress was gently lifted and they heard that swishing sound? “Weird mom” emerged, but how long would she stay this time? In time I began to have bizarre dreams. I would open the freezer for something and there my mother would be folded up frozen solid in our small kitchen freezer and I would scream. Of course when I woke up to reality I was reassured in the beginning. Then I noticed my dreams began to correlate with her behavior. It could have been 7 months since she was visibly drunk and then I would have “the freezer dream” and the next day it would start again. Was this a gift? It didn’t feel like one. It was bad enough seeing it happen, I didn’t want to know ahead of time. What could I do even with a premonition? I wondered if I was crazy or if it was just the same thing that triggered her, that heightened my awareness.
“Weird mom” was hard to explain to friends from school as I assume their mothers never fell down while carrying snacks out to their children and guests. I glazed over it. “She tripped! Whoops!” Alcoholism is a terrible affliction for any family, but in my childhood the few people I had heard of with an alcohol addiction were men. That was the lesser of two evils right? At least for an only child and a girl. We were an upper middle class family on Long Island. I certainly needed a mother figure that could hide her problems from the general public. Girls need Mothers. So the lies began. “She sick” (which she was), or on anyone of her six stints in rehab was “she’s away on business”. I knew it was all outrageously unbelievable even as it came out of my mouth. No one goes on 3 month trips for their job. She didn’t even have a career. Just whatever office job she could get until she was fired for being drunk. My friends knew there was something wrong, but 9 year olds don’t delve into deep family problems with each other.
I envied every friend I had. Even those with less then savory mothers because at least they had “normal mothers” by my standard. They knew what to do when they got their period. They had someone to talk to about the complexities of going through adolescence. I had these things too, but they were in the form of my emotionally drained overcompensating Dad. He became both to me. Anything I could learn on my own and spare the embarrassment I did, but he still made himself readily available for a confused preteen daughter. He was everything to me. The only stability in my life.
If it was a weekday, I don’t remember going to school. I do remember my Dad, with tears barely held back, telling a 5 year old that her mother was an alcoholic. I wonder even now, if he knew before. It was definitely not good parenting to leave a 5 year old unsupervised while you are passed out drunk once, but not something that would instantly signal that this person had a problem. At least not to me. Maybe she had not eaten? A fight yes, a problem, not yet. I knew it was a problem; sort of. I had a memory of her taking a swig out of a liquor bottle before we left my grandpa’s house one day. She made sure no one was looking. She never drank other than that. I don’t know how old I was, but it sits crystal clear in my head to this day. He had to know. I wonder what else I missed. I probably don’t want to know. I don’t want to know what I know now.
From that day on, we had the alternating personality of what I called “weird mom” and “normal mom”. I’m sure there was never actually a “normal mom” but it fit what she should have been the best in my mind. Not drunk at 2 pm. Weeks went by, she was cured! Then it would happen again. It was always a secret, she never drank in front of anyone, it was always hidden somewhere and suddenly she was drunk. Sometimes it was a glass hidden behind the porcelain doll collection, others it was a bottle of vodka slipped between my mattress and box spring. She tried not to wake me, but who would not wake up when the end of their mattress was gently lifted and they heard that swishing sound? “Weird mom” emerged, but how long would she stay this time? In time I began to have bizarre dreams. I would open the freezer for something and there my mother would be folded up frozen solid in our small kitchen freezer and I would scream. Of course when I woke up to reality I was reassured in the beginning. Then I noticed my dreams began to correlate with her behavior. It could have been 7 months since she was visibly drunk and then I would have “the freezer dream” and the next day it would start again. Was this a gift? It didn’t feel like one. It was bad enough seeing it happen, I didn’t want to know ahead of time. What could I do even with a premonition? I wondered if I was crazy or if it was just the same thing that triggered her, that heightened my awareness.
“Weird mom” was hard to explain to friends from school as I assume their mothers never fell down while carrying snacks out to their children and guests. I glazed over it. “She tripped! Whoops!” Alcoholism is a terrible affliction for any family, but in my childhood the few people I had heard of with an alcohol addiction were men. That was the lesser of two evils right? At least for an only child and a girl. We were an upper middle class family on Long Island. I certainly needed a mother figure that could hide her problems from the general public. Girls need Mothers. So the lies began. “She sick” (which she was), or on anyone of her six stints in rehab was “she’s away on business”. I knew it was all outrageously unbelievable even as it came out of my mouth. No one goes on 3 month trips for their job. She didn’t even have a career. Just whatever office job she could get until she was fired for being drunk. My friends knew there was something wrong, but 9 year olds don’t delve into deep family problems with each other.
I envied every friend I had. Even those with less then savory mothers because at least they had “normal mothers” by my standard. They knew what to do when they got their period. They had someone to talk to about the complexities of going through adolescence. I had these things too, but they were in the form of my emotionally drained overcompensating Dad. He became both to me. Anything I could learn on my own and spare the embarrassment I did, but he still made himself readily available for a confused preteen daughter. He was everything to me. The only stability in my life.
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Thank god you had a decent dad!! I, unfortunately, had a "weird mom" and a "weirder dad". You want to hear my estimation of weird. One evening my drunk mother, who was angry at my father for being out drinking, decided to empty out the pot and pan cabinet. Upon doing that she tossed her pillow and blanket in there and climbed in for a night's rest. Her orders to me (I was about 7 at the time) were to NOT tell daddy where mommy is when he gets home. She evidently wanted him to think she was out somewhere drinking. Well, when daddy came home drunk he of course came to my room to inquire where mommy was. I lay in bed and said "I don't know". He was furious and I heard him slamming things around the house. I was petrified and I remember laying there hoping he wasn't going to fix himself something to eat because then he would find mom and oh boy a huge physical fight would have ensued. I was terrified of those!
Friggin' unbelievable what these so called parents put us through - right.
Today, I am 45 yrs. old, yet recall that like it was yesterday.
Laurie
Friggin' unbelievable what these so called parents put us through - right.
Today, I am 45 yrs. old, yet recall that like it was yesterday.
Laurie
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