One bottle after the next is knocked back. Roaring laughter, wide smiles, glazed eyes. Amber liquid sloshes onto the stained carpet, blending in with urine, vomit, and feces. Feet shuffle toward the kitchen. The room tilts, a shoulder slams into the wall. Fingers claw for something. Anything. But thereās nothing.
Nothing but darkness as everything else fades away.
The next afternoon, the scrawny man with white stubble on his chin lays splayed out on the dirt-stained floor. Someone knocks on the door. No answer. Someone knocks again. Bottles rattle as they skitter across the floor.
The door cracks open.Ā
A naked father, covered in nothing but his bodily fluids, shades his red-rimmed eyes with his hand. A son, with his wife and small children walking up behind him, blocks their view.
A planned barbeque destroyed. Family bonds strained. Disappointment clouds the once bright day.Ā Ā
A decade passes. A decade filled with driving a father to and from work since he canāt drive himself thanks to a DUI. A decade filled with trying to cook for a father whoād only show up drunk. A decade filled with a father asking for money. A decade filled with a father trying to light up a cigarette in his daughterās car with his grandchild in the backseat. A decade filled with reaching out, with trying to save him, with offering help. But no one can save someone who doesnāt want to be saved.
Time goes on. A grandfather canāt spell his grandsonās name. A grandfather who doesnāt know what his granddaughter likes or dislikes. The grandchildren donāt know him, either. They call him by his given name, because heās nothing more than a stranger.
A father who calls his grown children ā not to see how theyāre doing. Not to tell them he loves them. Simply because he needs something.
Alcoholism isnāt victimless. Its dark web entangles its victim as it promises nothing more than a good time. Alcoholism is a jealous mistress who doesnāt like to share. She doesnāt just destroy the poor soul who lives and breathes for the next sip of her nectar. She destroys families.
Itās easy to judge from the outside. To judge the kids for not calling their parent. To judge the kids for not visiting their parent. But when you fight to save a parent who doesnāt want to be saved, thereās collateral damage. Good, kind hearts are hurt over and over again to the point they become numb.
This is what comes with alcoholism. Itās ugly, cold, hurtful. The family members caught in the path deserve compassion and kindness, not judgement and hate.
This is reality.
Ms. Write Life
I like your voice in this story. Had me following through to the end. I used to drink a lot too so this hit close to home. Thanks for sharing!
Thanks. Referencing my voice made my evening. Iāve been working on flexing it. The Lively Art of Writing by Lucile Vaughan Payne was equivalent to striking gold.
Hopefully, the story will resonate with others and give people a different perspective.
I had the same family.
šItās easy for people to pass judgment from the outside looking in. Alcoholism is tough.