LaTeeDa

I just read a blog over on OpenSalon.com about growing up with an alcoholic father that brought tears to my eyes. Here is the link:

The Gift of Alcoholism - mamoore - Open Salon

I'm still speechless.

L

suki44883

Yes, that was very powerful. I too had an alcoholic father; however, unlike mamoore's father, mine never sought treatment and died at the age of 56 from cirrhosis of the liver.

LaTeeDa

Yeah, mine died at 35 from gunshot to the head. I was 13. But I still see the gifts she speaks of.

L

suki44883

I found another blog on that site that is much closer to the way things were with my father and me. One or two things are different, but most of it is almost like she's writing about us.

I Lost My Father to Alcoholism, But He's Still Alive - DaBerm - Open Salon

Reading this one made me cry. First time I've cried about my father since his death almost 30 years ago. I guess it never really stops hurting.

suki44883

My gift was my own alcoholism.

utopia

I couldn't read this because noone in my family believes in recovery, but I'm glad that for this lady, recvoery worked for her father and for her in it's own way.

guiab

I read both blogs and, well, my perspective of my parents (both A's) and their disease remains:
It was definitely a curse. Yet, while it may give us (my siblings, all of us ACOA's) a gift of compassion and insight, I cannot call it a blessing.

All our posts are evidence of this 'blessing' ironically. If we had not experienced and reflected upon life under the rule of alcohol, we would not be here helping others, and each other.

Two big hopes of mine:
1) That I can, in my actions, in life and career, and not just in words, somehow become a really caring and compassionate person.
2) In some big happy future there will be no ACOA's.

The response to 'I lost My Father' from Havlin said it well:
And this from Havlin was just too hilarious to not post here:

cptspalding

hi suki

I know where your coming from, my mum died two years ago also aged 56 for the same reasons. Her gift to me (alcholism) I could more than happily return.