Turning Point

A "common wisdom" amongst widows is that it generally takes about two years to adjust to one's new life and circumstances and also to clear up the residual business of the departed. With me it is taking a bit longer because I have had to mainly concentrate on raising my sons (neither of whom is low maintenance!) while working full time.

However, I seem to have reached a bit of a turning point now. Oh sure - there is still stuff to do. I have barely scratched the surface on finishing with the clean up of Hubby's garage and barn (all his car stuff including items which as I stumble upon them I ship to a museum in California) and I seem to still be opening drawers that are full of surprises to clear out. At least the alcohol stashes have all been found near as I can tell! But estate things are finished, the house and yard have been repaired and restored post-alcoholic-neglect and destruction and I have redone my will and all that kind of stuff.

Symbolic of the end of the beginning as it were was a trip that I took with my sons this summer to London and Paris. I have been to London and England fairly often in connection with my music and research but I had not been to Paris in almost 25 years. I went when I was a young composer with a residency at the studios of West German Radio in Cologne, Germany. From Cologne you could take an overnight train to Paris and I did so almost every weekend of the three months I lived there. I really loved Paris and got to know it well. I also remember telling myself that if I ever had children that I would bring them to Paris to show them the magic of the city because it just seemed like something children should experience. This has always been a bit of an obsession with me - when both of my boys were babies I would hold them close and tell them all about our trip to Paris. And my oldest son was always asking me when we were going to go to Paris.

Like the picture in my earlier post, I held on to that dream during the really awful times. During those times, a trip to Paris seemed near impossible to even think about. However, I DID think of it as being a great vacation escape from "Drunk Daddy" and began planning as such. Then Hubby died and everything was on hold again.

In mid-June (before the heat wave there, thank goodness! It was a balmy 80 degrees the whole time we were there) my sons and I stepped into the Tuileries on our first early evening in the city. And I just lost it. Broke down and cried and cried and hugged my boys. Telling them about how finally my dream had come true. Needless to say - we had a wonderful, magical time.

Since then I have really felt at peace. Now I think I am truly moving on. Even meeting with a broker to plan my savings for my retirement. Wow!

And on July 4th, my brother-in-law came in from my garage fridge with a beer; one of the few I had saved from Hubby's stash because it was expensive British beer and is great for flavoring chili (I still have about 10 bottles in the fridge) and he said, "I found this awesome beer! May I have one?!" and I, of course, said "Sure!" and chuckled to myself.

I hope for peace of mind and heart for you all as well.

"We'll always have Paris...." -- Rick Blaine (Humphrey Bogart) Casablanca

This is the Fantasy

Here is the fantasy. The way we all imagine it might turn out. The way our alcoholic (or other substance abuser) might romantically change:

It isn't going to happen that way.....

A Picture to Focus On

One day when I was in a crafts store I found a small poster print that had all of the aesthetic elements and colors and ideas that I wanted in my house. Now before I go any further, let me explain to all of you (and, well, many of you will already know this!) that life with an alcoholic can get quite messy. Not only is there the physical mess (mid-to-end stage alcoholics have little control over body functions and also Hubby tended to stagger around a lot and crash into walls and furniture leaving big pits and scars) but one becomes so caught up in keeping life all together in the house and environs that gradually stuff can start to go to hell in a hand basket. Luckily - in my case - I was sharing the place with three males (one of whom was a drunk and the other two were little boys) so they never noticed!

Anyway, being a bit of a "Martha Stewart type", I bought the print and put it leaning up against the wall by my side of the bed. While I was still sharing a bed with Hubby, I would stare at it when he was tossing and turning about so much that I could not sleep or after a particularly bad day of being told how awful I was and how awful life was and how everything sucked etc. by Hubby. In short - I would stare at it when I was miserable in the dark.

Sometimes I would stare at it for a while and then I would close my eyes and pray for awhile - this is the only time in my life when I have ever prayed and the prayer was not spoken; I was literally in a sort of cocoon with God - hard to explain maybe like a Vulcan Mind Meld?! (haha!). And then I would stare at it again and know...just know..that someday the print would guide me into cleaning up the mess that would remain after the inevitable happened.

It has been over three years since Hubby's death and I still have not cleaned up ALL the mess. There are still a few cabinets and a barn to go through. A couple of shelves in the garage. But - for the most part - all of the physical plant of the house has been fixed, cleaned, remodeled and done. The last piece was completed yesterday; when I came home from work a new fence surrounded my back yard.

And all of it...all of it stemmed from that print. The colors, the simplicity, the slight Asian feel (well, I am a martial artist!), the peace. I hung it on the wall of my new master bathroom. It is all done.

I hope that each and every one of you has something that you can focus on that takes you away from the misery every once and awhile. Something that gives you peace...and a goal.

“Hope begins in the dark, the stubborn hope that if you just show up and try to do the right thing, the dawn will come. You wait and watch and work: you don't give up.” -- Anne Lamott (Bird by Bird)

It Just Gets Me in the Gut

Recently it seems like I am encountering folks dealing with loved ones' addiction issues all over the place. A colleague in martial arts just had his drug-addicted daughter relapse and run away leaving him and his wife with her two little babies (less than a year apart!) to care for and adopt. A colleague at work just had her drug-addicted daughter attempt suicide. A woman at church told me about her horrible home life - addicted, angry child and unsupportive husband.

It. Just. Gets. Me. In. The. Gut.

Because I remember it all too well. The awful feeling. Of nauseating despair. And I cannot help them. I can offer them advice and sympathy and a shoulder. And I know that helps.

But what really sickens me is that in these three cases at least, I know how it is going to end. Their loved one is going to die and there is nothing they can do about it. There is nothing I can do about it. I can gently suggest that they explore Al-Anon. That they read about "detachment" and other useful things. And it is so that they can prepare to say good-bye.

I know that there are happy endings often. In the cases above there will not be. I feel so awful for these friends and colleagues of mine.

But there it is....

Some Day You Will Stopped Being Defined by This Experience

When I was 27 years old I was diagnosed with Hodgkins Disease. I went through 10 months of extensive chemotherapy that was very harmful to my psyche (extreme amounts of Prednizone makes you really fat and really paranoid and angry) but it DID cure me and I am quite grateful for that. I was so grateful that "being a cancer survivor" became my mission in life and almost my sole definition of myself for quite some time. I became a "Cancermount Counselor" (American Cancer Society program where you meet with and counsel folks with your type of cancer). I became a team captain for Relay for Life for many, many years. Somehow the fact that I was a survivor worked its way into every conversation that I had with someone. There were a couple of reasons for this, some good and some just "human nature." I have a very "missional personality" - I do believe that life throws things at you for a reason and you should try to make lemonade out of those lemons as much as possible. So, I used my negative and frightening experience to help others. Also - being a cancer survivor made me "interesting" - it was a good conversation starter. And that is where it gets a little weird and ambiguous - I tend to over analyze myself and was constantly worried that I was just trying to draw attention to myself and get sympathy, praise etc. for it. You know - who knows?

But then it gradually it stopped defining me so much. Oh, when I am asked to step up to the plate for cancer survivorship I still do so (especially since I later survived another kind of quite curable cancer - thyroid cancer - too). When my church has a Relay for Life team, I still do an hour of running for it and raise the money. But I am not captain. Nor do I go do the Survivor's Lap when I am supposed to be 'honored' - I just happened to draw the lucky card on that; the real honorees should be the ones still struggling and who are losing the fight.

And - geez - now when it comes up in conversation it is totally by accident and I cannot even remember how many years I have been a survivor. It has utterly ceased to be a part of how I define myself for better or for worse.

I now find that this is occurring with the whole "I am a widow of an end-stage alcoholic" thing. Really - for awhile there, I was managing to work that into every single conversation I ever had! And I think it did some good sometimes - I have been approached by my acquaintances, colleagues, church members - who know my story (because for goodness sakes, I sure was blaring it everywhere!) who know that they can come to me for comfort, advice, an ear and shoulder to cry on. It is why I write this blog; I DO have something to offer, I think, and once again am making lemonade of the lemons, I hope. But I also think that for ME there was a level of "self-aggrandizement" too (See what I survived!) - you know, human nature! I am only speaking about me and my motives - conscious or unconscious - your mileage may vary....

Then I realized the other day that this too no longer defines me. At all. I am just a women of 51 years. I have two sons, a dog and 4 cats. I lost the love of my life - first to alcohol and then to oblivion. But I don't have to work it into every conversation for my sake or others. I don't think about it every day. In fact, I barely think of it at all.

I am going to have a conversation with my sons this summer; see if they have experienced this. How do they think of themselves? How do they define themselves now? How did they define themselves THEN (when dad died....).

This is meant to be a comforting post (I sure hope that it is! If not - blame it on my clumsy language!). Right now, several of you are going through the horror that I went through. It may end soon for you; it may end later for you. I hope it ends sooner for you.... But it WILL end and it will fade and cease to define you. You will have been tempered after the fire and shaped into something new but the origins of your 'new shape' will diminish. The burns will heal. And one morning you will wake up and just be...you.... That is my hope and prayer for all of you who read this blog.

"Luctor et emergo ex Flammis Orior Per Aspera Ad Astra." - I struggle and emerge from the flames through the thorns to the stars.

Another Dreadful Shirt

Once again Facebook has offered me this on my timeline (because my status is "widow"):

If anyone ever buys me this shirt I will punch them...multiple times. And then kick them and stomp on them! I mean...words just fail me...

Post-Alcoholic Marriage Recovery Advice, Part One

Part One - Be Very Careful About Jumping Back Into the Game

I have a rather recently divorced friend who posted a picture on Facebook yesterday with the caption, "It's better to have nobody than to have someone who is half there, or doesn't want to be there." I happen to agree completely with this sentiment. However, my friend posted "Actually NOT...Half there is great because then I could still have me time..."

Argh! Did she not learn a THING from her awful marriage? (apparently no) Does she really want a man so desperately? (actually, yes, she does) Having been in an extremely lonely marriage because of Hubby's "mistress" the bottle (I have not had sex since January 2007 and Hubby died in June 2012...get the picture?) I cannot imagine a relationship with someone who is only "half there". I had that...and then brain damage made it gradually even less and less.

I can certainly understand wanting to have sex. Good heavens, along with chocolate and a nice glass of red wine, it is essential to life and I often feel the deprivation of such a necessary thing. But my friend has rushed into some dreadful romantic situations due to her hastiness. Being a martial artist who regularly teaches self-defense I actually worry a great deal about her safety as well and have urged her to attend one of my workshops.

I guess in many ways I am a fuddy-duddy. I have two teenage sons; I really cannot be catting around bringing home strangers who swiped RIGHT on Tinder. I tried signing up for eHarmony only to be utterly humiliated by their screening process and then I was REJECTED! (apparently it was because I don't want to be married) I scrolled through Match and POF and just felt like some sort of voyeur looking at men to buy....Ugh! Ok - so I am too old-fashioned to do that whole thing. (I admire women who can and actually another friend of mine has found a lovely gentleman through POF)

I suppose what I am trying to say in this post is - if you have survived the alcoholic marriage you probably have a great deal of healing to do. If you have children, they probably have a great deal of healing to do. And you have suffered...my God, how you have suffered... In short, you deserve the best the NEXT time 'round (if you even want a next time 'round). Hold out for a good partner now. Make a list. Have some absolutes: I absolutely MUST have this and I absolutely MUST NOT have that. You don't need to be going from the frying pan into the fire....

In many ways having been the wife of an alcoholic I have the kind of experience that lets me sense potential issues from far off. For example, I gotta say that my martial arts instructor is pretty hot stuff. Hoooo-boy is he hot stuff. But I can see the issues from MILES AWAY. There are definitely multiple reasons why this guy was only married once and it was for 18 months. I shall take a pass, thank you very much!

Someday if some guy just wants to come along, take me to fun places (and no, he doesn't have to pay all the time!), be nice to me and my family and come with a good supply of sex, wine and chocolate (hmmm...this seems to be a recurring theme!) I will be happy to play along and have a "boyfriend". And maybe that will never happen because I am too picky. But better to never have what I deserve than to settle for someone I don't deserve again....

"And if my heart be scarred and burned,
The safer, I, for all I learned."
--Dorothy Parker

Broken Toys and Broken Boys

There has been a rash of posts in our "surviving family of alcoholics" blog community about whether to leave, whether to stay, what to do about your children etc. I have pretty thoroughly outlined in my beginning posts on this blog why I stayed. I have always been one to "play the long game" and so after careful analysis of the situation, I decided to stay. As I have ALSO mentioned, this was not a decision I made by myself; I did it in conference with my two sons. We decided to stay. And I had many a conversation with God about it as well - sorry, if that turns off the non-religious but I am a very spiritual being as I have mentioned before. Did I make the right decision?

Most of the time - yes, I think I made the correct decision. Like when instead of creating even more turmoil and misery in my life and my sons' lives by uprooting, I was eventually able to convert our sad, falling down home full of bad memories into a peaceful, clean, spacious, relaxing place to live. When I don't suffer at night from any "guilt" feelings - "if only I had done this or that" kind of stuff - hell, I DID do this and that! When I witness the empathy of my boys towards others' troubles because they have been in those shoes.

But I really have my moments of doubt too. My oldest son is now in intensive therapy for panic and anxiety attacks. This is almost 3 years after my husband/his father died! The initial therapy I had the boys in worked great for the younger son but not for the older apparently. Of course, the older one always maintained he didn't need therapy. I guess he did not need it until now. I am only too happy to provide it for him.

And then this past weekend when I was clearing out and cleaning up our back yard in preparation for workmen to come and bulldoze the place up and lay a new patio I came across something. It was a smashed up toy car. And I remembered this: When I came home from work one day my husband was in one of his awful "mean drunk" states. My youngest son had accidentally broken a tool of his. So, my husband said proudly that he took one of the youngest son's toy cars and smashed it with a rock in front of him so that now "he would know how bad it feels to have one's possessions broken." Wow - oh wow. It was one of those moments. You know - when you really don't quite know how to process it? You know of the profound and deep wrongness of all of this but you just don't know what to do. I remember going into my younger son's room to make sure he was all right. He shrugged and said, "I didn't like that car anyway." I just felt numb and helpless.

Then a few days later, I was out in the back yard and my youngest son came out with a toy car and a rock and started smashing it. I asked him why he was doing that and he told me that it was because he had done something bad and that he was punishing himself. I told him that he should never destroy himself or his possessions because of doing something bad and that his father had been mean and wrong. He said he understood and that he wouldn't do it again. Well, he must have done it again in secret because when I was clearing up the yard, I found these other smashed cars....so he kept on doing it at least for awhile... So - you know - did I make the right decision?

My husband used to work at this huge desk in the garage facing the driveway. My sons and I had a "little game" (what we called it) - would we have "Good Daddy" or "Bad Daddy" tonight? We would know immediately - my husband would look up from his desk at our car driving in and we could see on his face whether he was "good" or "bad". We would always say to each other in the car either "Whew! Good Daddy tonight!" or "Uh-oh, Bad Daddy tonight!" and then we would laugh and soldier on. Jesus-Christ-on-a-crutch how sick and twisted was that - how in the hell did we survive that?

Just leave your alcoholic...just leave them... (btw - the week after my husband died I had Goodwill come and haul that big awful desk away)

If You are a Reader and a Meditator These Books may Speak to You

During the past few years while Hubby was in the throes of alcoholic decline and also afterwards, there have been several books that have "spoken" to me profoundly about what I experienced then and experience now. None of them have been 100 percent what I am all about but they have at least made me go "Hmmmmm...." and given me food for thought.

Most of these books have a religious component to them as their writers have primarily been Christians (some are priests and ministers) or have a Christian focus to their lives. This might make them not your cup of tea but I encourage a look at them anyway - just 'bleep' past the Jesus parts if you are so inclined and concentrate on the ideas of healing, slowing down, being mindful...

1. Basically any book by Anne Lamott - but most recently her Stitches and Small Victories for the most secular work and Help, Thanks, Wow for a more religiously-focused book. Lamott's talent for me seems to be that she has the ability to articulate the very things that I have been thinking about but do not know how to discuss with any fluency.

2. Many of the books by Walter Brueggemann - Brueggemann is a theologian but his philosophy that he derives from his study of the Scriptures contains universal truths and helpful words. When I read Brueggemenn I find myself constantly saying "Ah, that's right! Why did I not think of that?" Most recent texts of note: Reality, Grief, Hope: Three Urgent Prophetic Tasks, Remember You are Dust and Sabbath as Resistance: Saying No to the Culture of Now. All contain a universal message of stepping back and assessing and meditating on circumstances.

3. The Inner Voice of Love: A Journey Through Anguish to Freedom by Henri Nouwen - Nouwen was a priest and this is a journal he wrote through a very difficult period of his life. Once again - lots of "God stuff" but many universal truths.

4. The Prophet by Kahlil Gibran - this was the book that every person who graduated from high school and/or college in the 70's and 80's received as a present. Has kind of a "hippy dippy" reputation but really speaks some universal truths. I was reminded of this golden oldie a few days ago in a women's book discussion group I attend.

So that is a short list for now. Please add books / writings that have helped you in the journey with your particular alcoholic/addicts. And be at peace.

Whew! At last THAT'S over!

When we are crushed like grapes we cannot think of the wine we will become.
--Henri Nouwen (1996)

I decided not to do a Valentine's Day post because others in the "folks-living-with/living-beyond alcoholics community" have done it so much better. But, I believe I express for the majority of us the sense that "Thank God, Valentine's Day" is over! Alcoholics ruin holidays in so many ways. I felt dread for years - not for myself - for my sons and for my mother. I wanted their holidays to be happy so I spent an exhaustive amount of time (especially at Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year's - things that involved an extended family meal) protecting them from the consequences of an alcoholic in the family.

I stayed with my husband throughout his alcoholism and death but I often wonder what would have been the breaking point. What would have finally made it so absolutely horrible that it would not matter that my sons and I would have lived in a cramped apartment on food stamps while half of my salary went to my husband as alimony and he lived in the home I was paying for. (I told you - the divorce laws in my state are a BITCH...they are meant to protect the stay-at-home mom who is left by her husband for the latest Barbie doll but they have unintended consequences...) When the violence that might have erupted from him (possibly gun-related) would not have mattered. When the pain and sadness became so unbearable that the only answer was to leave.

I don't know. Because he died before it became that way. The last straw had not yet been broken. But - you know - upon reflection this weekend, I realize that it would have not been much longer.

My heart and hope go out to those for whom that decision has become the obvious and inevitable choice. I realize that I actually have had it pretty darn "easy" - my problem just - poof! - went away. The knowledge of this frequently boggles my mind. I have survived cancer twice and also this. And I am becoming "fine wine." Wow, just wow. Anne LaMott says the three essential prayers are "Help. Thanks. Wow." Well, there you have it.

So, to those of you who have been called a "bitch" (or "bastard") just that one too many times. To my friend who inspired this blog who received her final divorce settlement (from her alcoholic) on this Valentine's Day. To all the many others I do not know personally or digitally. I am thinking of you and though it may seem odd to use Nouwen's "wine" quote in a blog about the aftermath of an alcoholic home, I do so look forward to the day when you emerge from this as a "fine wine" or - at the very least - a nice, cold glass of Dr. Pepper!

Retreat

For the first time in about four years all the stars aligned and I was able to go on our church's "Women's Retreat" for the weekend. Once Hubby got so awful that it was not safe to leave the boys for a weekend away I stopped all such travels. Now that my mother is finally retired (she retired from full-time high school teacher at age 82! Go Mom!) she can stay with the boys.

These retreats are of an inspirational nature. This one focused on "cups" and filling our cup and emptying our cup and how God holds us in both hands like a cup et al. Most of this stuff is simply common sense if you think about it; but whoever thinks about it unless one is on a lovely retreat in a beautiful lakeside conference center? So - that makes such retreats a good thing to go on.

Another thing that the retreat reminded me of (and which is a bit of a "theme" of our little blog community) is the idea that one is not alone in one's suffering. Often times we look at others and think that they have it all together only to discover that they are struggling with some awful stuff! Things discovered on this retreat included family member suicides, sons in prison, extreme anxiety disorders.... all confessed by outwardly calm, collected, beautifully-coiffed women. Many were unaware of the situation that I had gone through with Hubby. It all makes one feel better to know that one is not alone.

My wish for all readers today is that you get a "retreat". Maybe you don't get a nice weekend getaway to the lake but I hope you are able to take a few moments of alone time and silence. You are not alone - my thoughts are always with you.

The other day I was listening to the soundtrack to the movie, The Crow. I know - dreadful stuff - one of Hubby's favorite movies (he had terrible taste in movies - the more blood, the better!) but the soundtrack is a wonderful "set piece" of early 90's industrial music. I mean, it had been FOREVER since I had listened to Nine Inch Nails or Rage Against The Machine...took me back!

Lyrics of one song struck me as appropriate here: "Oh, it won't rain all the time. The sky won't fall forever. And though the night seems long, your tears won't fall forever." Here's to the morning for all of us....

A Homecoming New Year's Wish for You All

Well, it is obvious that it has been a long time since I posted. 2014 was a very busy year and for a single mom with two teenage sons, it got a little crazy. In many ways that is not a bad thing; it means that life is returning to "normal". There are still flashbacks and my oldest son requested to go back into therapy again; he was fine and then suddenly he wasn't so I am fortunate that a great new therapist was right there when he was needed.

I have a friend from college who was diagnosed with an aggressive form of breast cancer and had to immediately have a double mastectomy. After several weeks of Facebook silence she posted again saying that she was now needing to "do less reading in the breast cancer survivor blog community" and could return more to her typical social media pursuits. She needed that community and then she needed that community just a little less....

Because we - the survivors of our alcoholics and other persons with substance abuse "issues" - sometimes need our community a little bit more and then maybe a little bit less.....

Back to blogging - this is an entry that I was planning to write in late October during the typical American High School Football "Homecoming Season". This was my oldest son's first high school Homecoming and as he is a "football star" on the district-winning freshman team, it was kind of a big deal for him. In the South and especially in MY state, Homecoming takes on mythic proportions. Let's just say that there was a big game, and a pretty girl with a mum (Google "Texas Homecoming Mums" to see what I mean) and a dance.

Those of us who live with and/or lived with alcoholics and other substance abusers know that eventually "homecomings" become fraught with tension, anxiety and peril. Hubby towards the end spent all of his time in the garage and as I would pull up in the driveway with the boys, the three of us would speculate aloud as to whether we were coming home to "good Dad" or "bad Dad". "Good Dad" would look up from his garage desk and smile and say, "Hey, how's it going?". "Bad Dad" would just either frown and grunt or immediately spout out something dreadful like, "Munchie (the cat)threw up on the kitchen floor again; I was tempted to shoot her." If we saw that it was going to be "Good Dad", we would all audibly breathe a sigh of relief. Signs of "Bad Dad" just brought sighs of misery. One day my oldest son came home from school with his friends and "Bad Dad" was sitting in a puddle of his urine crying...is it any wonder the poor boy needs therapy?

Sometimes Hubby would be passed out in the bedroom. We would all tip toe around so as not to wake him and so as to enjoy the quiet peacefulness of it almost being like he wasn't there at all.....

I wish "Good Dad" (or "Good Mom" or "Good Son" or "Good Sister") homecomings for all of you in 2015. But when they are not good homecomings, I wish for you that you have the strength to endure. And maybe, just maybe it might be time to think about the quiet peacefulness of them not being there at all....

Get out if you need to get out; stay in if your heart and head tells you to stay in.....nothing to be ashamed of or feel badly about... Either way, I am thinking of you all and hope that you use our community when you need it and that someday you may need it just a little less....