Hi, Can I help you?

The below post was a written by a young lady (21 years of age) when asked to write about a life incident for her English class. This is a wonderful description of a child of an alcoholic father. Even children raised in a single parent home without alcohol, eventually want to know the reason they had a missing parent. And, eventually, that missing parent will have to atone for his/her actions or lack of actions.

Thank you, Mary Grace for this posting!

"Hi, Can I Help You?"

It was so dark and cold. I couldn't stop counting the drops that hit my windshield. 7,8,9,10,11....constantly missing one, I would restart counting. I didn't want to focus on anything else while on my way to see him. Counting the drops helped keep my head calm. Although, it also helped me nearly get into a car crash. I should pay more attention at what's in front of me. Like the whole slew of cars during this bitch of a rainstorm. Nearly four years it was since I last saw him. Four years since I had last saw his boney frame and unchanged, soiled clothing. Four years since I thought this world was just compiled of shit and dirt. And four years since I couldn't wait for him to be taken away, to see what life is like without him.

Maybe he had changed or maybe he was still drinking away the tiniest bit of man he had left. Hoping he would remain the drunk he always was, I pulled up to the house he supposedly was squatting in. Remembering the address I read on the restraining order documents, I couldn't stop repeating the numbers to myself. Stomach twisted, I walked up to the house. I looked at what, essentially, resembled who and what my dad was. A mangy, dirty, and neglected structure. Hesitantly knocking on "his" door, I found nor heard my dad or anyone for that matter. Panic had set in. I felt pissed off. Those feelings were not foreign when dealing with this man. Of course he wasn't at this house. Of Course He Wasn't There. He never was, why would he be now!

I heard a voice from across the street, my father's neighbor. I instantly felt a need to apologize to this man for witnessing any scenes my father may have caused.

" You looking for Mike? Who the fuck might you be?" Impressed by how eloquently this sloppy 5 foot man spoke to me, I responded, "I'm an old friend, is he here or not? Is he even alive?" Continuing to address me in a lazy but non-welcoming manner, he mentioned how "terrible" and "disgusting" Mike's daughters and wife were. He proceeded to say "they abandoned that poor man and I helped get his life back." I'm not sure what irked me more, hearing him utter the words "poor man" or "abandoned." I no longer saw a sloppy, 5 foot man. I saw a cockroach. A cockroach who wanted a pat on the back for enabling another cockroach. I saw a cockroach who wanted recognition to distract from the inevitable trauma he caused in his life. However, this cockroach spewed one piece of significant information, my father's current address.

Anxiously getting back in my car, I thought to get out and smash that cockroach. I wasn't anxious because I feared that man. I wasn't scared. My anxiety was caused by the comforting thought of me smashing his face in.

Perhaps, there was one thing I was terrified of-- the possibility of my father's sobriety and finally obtaining an honest heart.

Creeping down his street slowly, I looked at the house numbers. I wasn't sure what to do now. I couldn't believe I would see him after this long.

Screaming, crying, and violently attacking him was one option.

Screaming, crying, and hugging him was another.

Or maybe I could just scream, cry, turn around and never entertain this field trip again.

My nerves had consumed me. I was a goner. I was not strong.

I finally arrived.

Let's get out. This is what you drove nearly an hour to do. Just do it.

Almost forgetting I brought my family dog for the trip, I kissed his head and sighed. I couldn't say why I brought him. Maybe I wanted to comfort my dad with seeing a part of what he used to have. Or possibly I brought him for my sake.

I remember feeling so isolated from the real world. I remember the feeling of discomfort when walking up to knock on his door.

I had lost myself in thought while knocking. All the possibilities racing through my head. Knuckles sore from knocking so much, I finally heard foot steps.

A young woman and her mother had answered the door.

I am dead.

He replaced us. We weren't good for him. He found something better. Fucking asshole, I hate you.

"Hi...uh....can I help you?" the young woman had confusingly spoken. Equally confused, I replied with, "Hi, I'm sorry, but does a 'Michael H***' live here?"

She made a face. A certain face. A very, very familiar face. She seemed embarrassed to say he was with them. She sent a vibe.

He was a burden for them.

The mother or daughter didn't have a close relationship with him. He wasn't a father nor someone's significant other. Michael P. H*** was a burden for these two.

As the two women walked away to get him, I tightened my jaw and stood tall.

Fuck. I hear his voice. He sounds so brittle and weathered.

Smiling from ear to ear, he welcomed me, " Hi, can I help you? I'm not sure who you are..."

Once again, I am dead.

I felt sick to my stomach. " Dad, it's me, Mary Grace...I'm your daughter"

His face went white. For once, he had made an appropriate expression and felt some emotion. I was a ghost from his past. He grabbed my arms gently and looked at my face for a while.

I felt his eyes and brain scanning me.

My dad never wanted to be a part of our lives. True love from a paternal figure was never shown to me or my sisters. He stayed in the garage, smoking and drinking, while we were awarded MVP for a school sport.

He stayed in the garage missing our talent and growth while complete strangers witnessed it.

My father, Michael P H***, was never meant for this life he abandoned so long ago. I love Michael P H*** for the person he was supposed to be. That is the extent of that.

I will never have a father. But I also will never be a size 0 in jeans. It will never be easy, I know this. But I have my whole life to accept and welcome that feeling. I have my whole life to share that feeling with people who have shown me true love. To those people: I love you.

Alcoholics as parents

Linda’s Place Recovery Center has been moved to the back burner for now. Due to time constraints, I was unable to market the campaign as it needed to be done. I also need to find an assistant who will eventually take my place as the leader when I can no longer do so. If anyone is interested in a volunteer position as my assistant, please contact me.

On to other things…

I received a comment from Anonymous that needs some clarification. I always hesitate to respond to comments that are anonymous especially when they clearly indicate that they have not read my book or very many of the blog postings.

My kids “went along like nothing happened” is misleading. They simply lived their life and did not let their father interfere with their friendships or many of their activities. They didn’t put their head in the sand and say --- “OH NO! Not MY father!” They were aware and we had many discussions about alcoholism.

Their father was not violent, mean or abusive towards them. The worst abusive thing he was is just to be absent – physically and emotionally. Due to being a submarine sailor, he was gone to sea more than 50% of the time. I lived my life and raised my kids as though I was a single mom even when Riley was present. It’s what worked for me.

My kids faced the same ordeals as any other young person during that time period. Just like any other kid, they had to make choices and sometimes they made the wrong ones. But, again just like other kids, they learned from their mistakes.

Brian was a 40-year old man when he began abusing alcohol. By the time he turned 44 he was dead. Yes, I believe there were circumstances that led to the alcoholism. I believe he had some “internal turmoil” but it was not due to his childhood. I, as well as the entire family, know where and when the turmoil started. I will not share those details here on this blog.

Alcohol is not an issue for my daughter. It’s simple, she doesn’t drink in excess. She doesn’t associate with people who abuse alcohol. She has no space for alcohol or alcoholism in her life. I stand up and applaud my daughter for her chosen direction.

Do I wish she would take over for me if I need her to help out with any of my projects? Absolutely NOT. Of course it would be nice, but I’m glad she has no need, no interest, and no desire to stand on the same soap box as me. It means she is not alcohol involved. You have no idea how happy that makes me.

In my opinion most people live with the idea that ALL alcoholics are terrible parents from the very beginning. I’m not an ALL or NOTHING kind of person. Usually alcoholism is a gradual disease and doesn’t immediately take away the ability to parent properly. Parenting skills will gradually diminish as the alcoholism continues to take its course. It’s up to the non-drinking parent to monitor and scrutinize the ability of the drinking parent. It’s up the non-drinking parent to determine how much parenting the alcoholic can manage without hurting the kids. It’s the responsibility of the non-drinking parent to remove the children from the presence of an abusive parent – alcoholic or not.

We are not all fortunate to have the funds to simply walk away on a moment’s notice. It takes planning and saving and preparing for the day that it will become a necessity. Some people never even start to prepare because they do not believe that day will ever come. Often these bright-eyed, cheery, optimists end up in desperate situations.

Here’s the point – I think.

If you are married to an alcoholic and have children, live like a single parent. Do not expect anything from your alcoholic and you will not be disappointed. Plan and do things on your own with the kids. If the alcoholic chooses to participate, be aware of his mental status before including him or her. Monitor the atmosphere between the alcoholic and the kids. Listen to your gut – it’s usually right.

Young and Restless

I’ve been watching the Young and the Restless ever since it’s very first episode back in March of 1973. The only reason I watched it was because my best friend was at my house and she was a big soap opera fan.  Not me. I had two small children and felt that I didn’t have time for such a frivolous thing as sitting down to my TV everyday at a particular time.

In spite of that, I found myself getting to know the Brooks and Foster families and all the intertwined drama they produced. I started feeding my kids lunch just a little earlier and putting them down for naps just before the program started. That way I could watch without interruption. I was hooked. I could feel myself becoming a part of this Genoa City community.

Katherine Chancellor was introduced into Young and Restless in November 1973 as a wealthy alcoholic socialite. It was the first of what would be a long-standing exposure as to the effects alcohol can have on a person’s life. The producers have continued throughout the years to increase awareness of how alcoholism can ruin a person’s life.

I applaud the writers and producers of this show for their continuing efforts. However, I feel an entire segment of Genoa City’s population has been overlooked.  That is the effect of alcoholism on those who love the alcoholic. Here is a perfect venue to make the invisible collateral damage less invisible and they have dropped the ball.

Of course, a soap opera is not a soap opera without dysfunctional families and Genoa City has more than their fair share. Top of the mark would be the Newman family with the alcoholic mother married to a man who seems to constantly confuse his children with business co-workers. Maybe if Victor were less inclined to fix all problems with buying solutions and pay more personal attention, the family would have more of a chance to find peace. While Victor and the kids all say they are worried about Nicky’s drinking, I see them covering up and lying in order to protect her from herself.

Then we have the perfect candidate for showing how the family is affected when we look at the Winters’ family. Neal’s daughter babies him and protects him like he was her child instead of her father. Yet, I have yet to see anyone take Lily aside and explain to her that her father’s alcoholism belongs to him and he must be the one who does something about it. There are ways she can help him, but she cannot take his alcoholism away. Lily tries to find reasons for her father’s drinking and if she can solve the “reason” she can solve the problem. I would say to Lily, “Your father drinks because he is an alcoholic and that’s what alcoholics do.” I would tell her that to believe anything else is just giving him an excuse to drink.

The family dynamics in the circle of an alcoholic are not clearly depicted in the alcoholism story lines of the show. There is an opportunity for the writers to establish one with the creation of Jack and Neal’s newly founded association for addicted persons. I’ll be interested to see how this plays out.

Also, we have yet to see (unless I missed it during those years when I was without DVR and working) an alcoholic become end-stage. An end-stage story line would help so many people who are struggling with alcohol. It would help many family members know what is ahead of them. Of course, actually viewing what end-stage is really like may not be appealing to the masses. Maybe the masses could use a little eye-opening.

What it means...

I found this poem on the Alcoholic Family Support page in Facebook. You can find it here:

https://www.facebook.com/Alcoholic-Family-Support-403092026505563/?fref=ts

Written by Bobbie Lee Oney

Loving an alcoholic, 
Means forgetting to love yourself.

Loving an alcoholic,
You lose your sense of nerve. 

Loving an alcoholic, 
Means you're the one who ends up hurt.

Loving an alcoholic,
You'll never get it right.

Loving an alcoholic,
will keep you up most nights.

Loving an alcoholic,
Teaches you'll never win the fight. 

Loving an alcoholic,
You lose your sense of self.

Loving an alcoholic, 
Is it a sacrifice that's worth the fight?

Loving an alcoholic,
The pain, the misery, cruel words. 

Loving an alcoholic, 
Hoping and praying someday he'll be happy enough to let go.

Loving an alcoholic, 
Thinking you're a terrible person that deserves nothing better. 

Loving an alcoholic, 
So many emotions, not enough words.

Just loving an alcoholic and praying someday that 

will be enough for him to let it all go.

Show me the money for all this fun

Someone close to me has said something to the affect of “caretaking Riley really isn’t very hard.” It was inferred that I am only doing this for the money. The first thing that came to my mind was “What money?”

First of all, I’m not a nurse. I hate doing anything that even resembles nursing. That includes taking care of Riley. There isn’t enough money anywhere to make caretaking him a pleasant experience.

When I was 12 years old, I helped in the caretaking of my grandmother. I loved her dearly. She was my “go to” person and I loved spending time with her. My duties were to take her the bedpan and then empty it. Make sure she has water, snacks and anything else she needed to keep her comfortable. I didn’t mind doing it because it made her happy. But, it awakened me to the fact that I didn’t want a career in nursing. My aunt offered to pay for my entire college education if I went into nursing. I declined the offer in favor of attending fashion design school.

What! No family program?

I want to vent a little bit today. Just a little bit, I promise.

I received a very pleasant e-mail from a person who represents a drug and alcohol rehab center. The nice lady on the phone said they wanted to see if possibly they could be a guest poster on this blog.

I checked out their website and I loved the concept of their program. It was not your run of the mill rehab where the client is showered with lots of AA and then sent on their way. They have a very viable alternative to the standard rehab center. I commend them for that. Can you guess what my one big objection might be?

Where’s the family program? There are all these wonderfully inventive things for the addicted person, but I saw absolutely nothing for the family. I was disappointed because I thought they could have used that creativity to expand their current programs to those who have been left in the peripheral damage zone of the addicted person.

I brought this issue up to the lady on the phone and she said she would discuss it with the owner of the facility and get back to me.  I won’t sit by the phone and wait for what probably will not happen.

Vent over. Well… maybe…

Workbook for Caretakers

I was just notified by one of my readers that after purchasing the Workbook for Caretakers of End Stage Alcoholics, she did NOT receive a link for the download of the actual book. If you purchased this and did not receive it --- PLEASE, let me know so I can get one to you. ASAP. Contact me at LindaWrites@live.com or ImmortalAlcoholic@gmail.com.

I apologize that you did not get your copy. I wasn't aware that the system was not working properly.

Thanks,

Linda

Surviving the alcoholic's addiction

Do you know how long it takes for the brain to be alcohol toxin free after an alcoholic quits drinking?

Do you understand the legal ramifications of staying married to an alcoholic?

Do you have a safe place to escape when things get heated at your house?

Have you a support system when you just need to vent?

Linda’s Place will provide all these things for anyone who is battling the dilemma of staying or moving on. It is a recovery center for families and friends of alcoholics. This is not just a glorified Al-Anon center. However, Al-Anon will be invited to hold meetings at the center. This center is a place of education, support and resources.

At Linda’s Place you will find on-going

Parallel Race

This week marks the end of any extra help in caretaking Riley. About a week ago I received a call from our Veterans Administration social worker and was told that they were assigning me 12 hours a week from a personal care aide. The very next day I received another call from the same social worker that my 12 hours had been taken back because the VA has discontinued the program that gives that benefit to any veteran who does not have a service related disability. I will have no aide, no respite time, and the visiting nurses paid for by Medicare are at their end of time. We have physical therapy and occupational therapy for another week. Then I’m on my own.

Riley has improved under the direction of the PT and OT. He can now get out of the bed and into his wheelchair. He can also get to the shower and have a real chance to clean up. I should be happy for him. He can do those things but requires

Alcoholic Shades of Gray

After receiving a comment from a reader, I thought a bit of clarification might be in order. Let me see how I can explain this.

I am a senior woman and I own a black dog. Not all black dogs are owned by senior women. Not all seniors own a dog. Not all women own dogs. Not all seniors are women and not all women are seniors. Does that make sense?

I do not believe that all people who drink alcohol are alcoholics. Not all people who get drunk occasionally are alcoholics. If you have a drink after work or wine with dinner, that doesn’t necessarily mean you are an alcoholic.

I asked Riley to tell me what an alcoholic looks like. After all, who would know better than a self-professed alcoholic? He replied that if you