Alcoholism – the disease that lurks in the shadows

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The words that grip me today are saturated with reality.  They come from a place of experience.  They come from a place of sadness.   But they also come from a place of honesty.  This piece of writing is not fiction and comes from deep within myself.

Disease is a long and winding road.  I am an adult child of alcoholic parents.  There have been reams written on the subject, some of it is familiar to me and some seems to be a foreign language from another planet.  Each child that has grown up with the same label I have experiences their life in a completely different way.  No two children live within the same defined constraints of alcoholism and no two children will ever see the disease in the same way.  My brother and I grew up in the same house and I would put money on the fact that we would describe the experience from two completely different perspectives.  This is the reality of disease – it will affect everyone in a unique way.

I was always an intuitive child and I knew from an early age that my parents did not drink the way most parents drank.  Sure, life was fun, life was a party, but life also got swept under the rug and the hard times were diluted with an alternate reality that was sold in a bottle.  My childhood was not a horrible experience, by any means.  My parents were loving, affectionate and giving and our family knew how to care for and support each other and work hard for the things we got.  But the demons always lurked in the corners.  When life was good, it was great.  But when life was difficult, my parents would retreat into the safety of the haze that alcohol created and the world outside of the four walls of our home failed to exist.  They shared a blurred vision that perpetuated the colors of their elusive rainbow.  Their co-dependency only fueled the fire of the disease and, as the years progressed, my father was the first to show the physical symptoms of its true profile.  Alcohol is a serial killer.

His once athletic frame had become withered and yellowed and the spark in his eyes had faded.  The buoyant man brimming with life was transformed into an aged man who, at times, seemed like a stranger.  His personality slowly retreated into a dark corner and the vacant stare that remained only served as a reminder that the man we once knew had been abducted by the demons of his past. Watching my father suffer the prolonged and debilitating effects of the disease was horrific.  Thankfully the memories I choose to keep are those of the energetic, exuberant man whom everyone loved.

Not a day goes by that I don’t think of that serial killer lurking in the shadows.  I enjoy a glass of wine.  I appreciate a cold beer on a hot day.  But that enjoyment is tarnished with thoughts of a possible genetic mutation that may alter my pleasure and turn it into something sinister.  When I savor a red wine bursting with the aromas of blackberry and cinnamon, when I let it circle my taste buds with the pungent taste of earth and spice, there is an underlying sense of disquiet that the indulgence may have an ulterior motive.   I can only take solace in the fact that wine, for me, is a pleasure and not an escape.  I delight in its taste and my life is not affected by my enjoyment of its true character and nuance.  It enhances my palate, it does not control my world.

True to the form of a demented psyche, the serial killer has now targeted my mother. It has stalked her, circling her and batting at her like a cat with a mouse.  Seeing the recent change in my mom is more difficult because we have something to compare it to.  That all-too-familiar haunting look in her eyes and the subtle changes in her personality bring the experience with my dad back to the forefront of my mind.  We know what to expect and there is nothing we can do to change it.  We are helpless to watch my mom teeter over the same rabbit hole that swallowed my father.

Thankfully my mom is much like my dad and has the spirit of a fighter.  Deep inside she knows she is unwell, but her demeanor and her spunk tell a different story.  Together, as a family, we will board the windows and latch the doors to fend off the evil perpetrator as long as we can.   Serial killers may be tenacious, but this one has no idea what its up against.  Blood is most definitely thicker than water and the life force that flows in our veins is stubborn.  We will never give up without a good fight.   Disease will never trump a child’s love for their parents.

16 thoughts on “Alcoholism – the disease that lurks in the shadows

  1. although on the surface it does not seem to be, this was a tribute in a way to your parents–I am so sorry the demon takes over and darkens the spark, but you are one smart girl for seeing there was much more to your parents than the alcoholism–you sound like a truly strong person

  2. I don’t know what else to say but I’m sorry. This can’t be an easy thing to endure, to slowly watch the consequences of a lifetime’s worth of decisions decimate those we love. I hope that, like with your father, only the happy memories of your mother stay strong, and not the suffering she now endures.

    You have my email and phone number if you ever need to talk, Susan. Use it if you need.

  3. You and my wife have something in common. My dad wasn’t an alcoholic, as far as I know, but he sure loved his booze. I have vivid memories of waking up in the morning on his boat. He’d walk to the wheel, grab a bottle of Black Velvet from the cupboard, and swig right from the bottle. And he’d just rolled out of bed. A strange way to greet the new day. I guess that’s a memory that never goes away.

    When pain exceeds ability to cope bad things can happen. We are sending positive thoughts for you and your mom!

  4. I, too, am so very sorry and have no concept of what you endured as a child. I have seen the demons at work as an adult and most recently in my Texas travels home. It’s not a pretty sight, but at least I understood the problem and that the refusal to change wasn’t my fault nor my responsibility. Good luck with your mother and I hope for brighter days for her – and for you.

    • Thank you. I am one of the lucky few, I think, that were able to process things in a way that I was able to understand eventually that I could never fix the problem. That alone was a big weight lifted. I had the same epiphany with my ex-husband.

  5. This is a very powerful post, Susan and I totally understand where you’re coming from. Alcoholism is a hideous disease (one of the reasons is because drinking is so acceptable and an expected social outlet in our society!) The serial killer is lurking everywhere and the problem is that there are SO MANY enablers who are keen to ply people with alcohol for the sake of a good night out. You go to a party and if you don’t drink you can be treated like some kind of pariah (unless you say you’re the nominated driver!)
    I love your line “They shared a blurred vision that perpetuated the colors of their elusive rainbow” – this is one of the best lines I’ve ever read, anywhere…

    Big *hugs* to you, my friend

  6. Can’t imagine this was an easy post to right, but your love for your parents and defiance of alcohol shine through it, along with your strength.

    • Thanks Guap. There were many tears involved in the writing. I’m going to go a little more in-depth for a post on Black box warnings at the end of the month. I’ll have to mentally prepare for that one.

  7. Wow, PP. Powerful, touching, instructive post. And inspiring in that you have not allowed the disease to take over your life or your memories. My prayers are with you.

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