On Friday I had a long lunch with an ex colleague of mine
from years ago who was also a very close friend for many years. Our conversation
and her trust in me profoundly touched me. She and her family are in crisis
right now-and she came to me to listen and trust. Her husband left for in-patient
rehabilitation today for alcohol addiction and the safe and comfortable world
they have built together seems to be falling part quickly and rapidly. This
family is you and it is I. Middleclass, professionals, 4 beautiful and thriving
children. If it could happen them it could happen to us.
She trusts me as a coach, as colleague and as someone who has some
experience with alcohol to a certain much lesser degree, in that my husband drank
a vodka a night for many years and he did not like the impact that over time
this had and has tried to cut back in the last couple of years. So certainly I
cannot relate entirely-but I have an understanding more than others might.
Therefore she asked me to imagine…really really imagine what she is going through. To truly emphasize
in how this might feel for her today as she dropped him off for three weeks
without contact, without certainly. Without him-the person she loves most in
the world. And she asked me to write a blog about it for her to make it come
alive through my own understanding
And so I did. My beautiful friend-this one is for you.
I imagine:
I imagine preparing for him all the things that I think
might possibly hep to make it ok. Making a list of all the comfort and special
things. Laid out on the bed is a shirt with my perfume on it and a little note
tucked inside that they may not find or be able to take away. Painfully deciding
together a symbol for each kid to keep them close for each of his children. A symbol
also from each child they choose for him and give him to keep close to him…that
he will treasure for hours and days in his darkest times of moments. Symbols of
love from us all. My rock, the ducks, the one worry doll
to ensure it is only him he worries about with a heart shaped note that I am
sure will be confiscated.
I imagine calling up the centre and asking if he can
bring his own bedding with him. They will say no but I convince them anyway
because he needs his own bedding. Soft, fluffy comfort. The stuff his kids had
when they were growing up, soft covers from the cottage to envelope him, comfort
him. I imagine they say yes in the end. At least he has that.
Going to Walmart and buying all the things he loves to
snack on-the most expensive things and bags and bags of them that he can share
with the people there less fortunate than him. Picturing him handing them out
on their Saturdays and the Sundays probably the only days that there is allowed
such treatsL.
Picturing them sitting there the 12 men/ woman fighting for their lives back
and enjoying this treat we would have sent. Smiling to myself as I know there
will be joy in that moment. And that makes me smile to realize there will be
some joy maybe for a moment?
I imagine the days before and how hard they are-the one
on one date for each of the kids who are saying goodbye and not knowing what to
expect in three weeks-in three months in three years. Hoping and praying it
will be ok-but knowing and reading that alcoholism is the longest journey of a
lifetime and seems never to have an ending or be complete. I am imagining him
chopping wood with them, and taking them out to breakfast, crying with them and
comforting them. Scooping up every last ounce of them before he goes.
I imagine all five of us outside at the cottage for more
than an hour pouring all the bottles of any alcohol in the snow. Each making
our own hole to bury them in-pouring and each taking our turn saying our bit. I
can imagine the kids asking if they could swear while doing is and us saying of course. And the swearing in both languages
and throwing-what a release of anger in a comical way the angry words roll off
their tongues and laughing at them but knowing they are real and there. I can imagine
us all out there in the freezing rain laughing and hugging and having fun even
through such a difficult time. I can imagine leaving the champagne bottle at
the end for celebration-of a brand new beginning and a new way of life each
taken our time to pour and celebrate in the hole in the snow. I can imagine the
kids hanging on to every word theirs Dad says-listening to every swear word….remembering
this for the rest of their lives as a defining moment. Hanging onto and wanting
to believe what he is saying. Needing to.
I can imagine me giving a speech about healthy drinking
and that drinking is ok as long as it is not a need-stays as a pleasure. I can
imagine the kids asking if we could pack away the beautiful vodka glasses Didi
gave as a gift in their past for when
the kids move put, I imagine saying yes as long as I think they drink responsibly
at that point. Isn’t there pleasure in alcohol at all? Is there? Shouldn’t
there be? I imagine me and their Dad happily having sparkling water in them one
day when when we vist them at their homes. It seems like so far away to get
there..will it be?
Most of all I imagine each social event, each wedding,
each occasion with my husband’s hand in mine-and instead of clutching a glass clutching
each other tight. A toast with our own glasses and a special wink as only we
will know what it has taken to get there.
And I imagine me. Alone. My best friend in the world
leaving-going-when I need him most. Setting up counselling for the children,
being courageous and setting up counselling for myself weekly with the toughest
love counsellor on the face of this earth. Going back again. Going to hell to
find heaven. Finding it in myself to do that even though those most challenging
times. Being books to read and understand. Signing up for weekend courses for
the spouses in a language that is not mine. Trying to support..Trying to
accept…trying trying so hard.
And both inviting support and blocking it out. Allowing
the people around us who love us to support us-but not really knowing how.
Allow some of them in always-some of them in sometimes and some of them in never.
And then starting over the next day again and again and again each day
changing. Thinking how did my beautiful , secure wonderful amazing marriage now
become the one people analyse, pull part, try to put back together, find fault
in, truly seek to understand and fix and help with. Am I not the expert on family?
Are we not the mentors in this? Are we not what people aspire too? Are we not one
of the very few who have been together this long, and succeeded and got to this
point? How is it us now that is broken and needing help and under the microscope?
Don’t people know that when they talk about him to me as if he is a stranger to
me that I don’t hear them? That it doesn’t make any sense to my ears? This is my husband we are talking
about..him..us…together..We know each other more than anyone else in the
world……or do we? Doesn’t everyone around me know this?
But yet I understand it as much as I don’t want to. I
hear it as much as I don’t want to. I feel it as much as I don’t want too. This
is what love is-this is what support is…this is tough love and tough love is
part of real unconditional love and support. And as much as I don’t feel I need
this …I know I know. I need to know the truth. And maybe I don’t know parts of
it and maybe they do. And I know for a fact I would do the same as all of
them-I would give tough love and would give the truth. Simply because I love them
and I want them to get better. That is
what love is. You can’t just take the easy parts that I know for sure. You can’t
just take what makes sense to you-as it is the things that don’t make sense
that will help you most.
I imagine myself calling and setting up weekly counselling
for myself and sensing a sense of urgency in the counselor’s voice. It scaring
me that sense of urgency as doesn’t she deal in death and divorce and trauma?
Doesn’t she see it all? Why is she fitting me in so quickly-shifting all her
schedules and priorities? I imagine here saying “Tarina for the spouse of an alcoholic…it
is just as hard for the souse as the person going into a program and so is the recovery
later…this situation is often harder than anything else in the world….it is
close to traumatic in many ways…and it is something you stay in and not leave
which is even harder. Are you free tomorrow morning-you will need help”. I picture asking her about marriage
counselling together afterwards..and that surely the dynamic of the
relationship will change and we need to deal with that tight? Handle it? And
she sort of laughs a little and says”for now my dear marriage counselling is
the least of your concerns and so are the dynamics of your relationship….you
need to get thought his and so does he”.
I imagine that weekend before. The buttery chocolate homemade
croissants in the oven, holding on for dear life, cuddling under blankets alone
and shutting off all commutation. Getting used to be alone-but still being
together still. The longer hugs, the anger, the acceptance, the betrayal-the closeness.
The hope and the fear that it will never again be ok. The fear that it will.
Locking the cottage and knowing we come back it might look and feel differently.
What does life feel like without alcohol in it?
Losing control that weekend on a level that has never
happened before. Losing control in a good way. Letting control go. Letting it all just be and flow-letting him
take the lead maybe for the first time? The lamp on the road..the times to ski.
The dinner to be made or not made. What movie shall we watch my Dear? Preparing to get to the place where we can do
fix TV’s and screw in lightbiubs together. Wearing my nicest lingerie and
having no expectations, or anger or resentment. Wearing it.
I imagine us both staying up pretty much the entire night
two nights before because time is all we feel we control. Looking at the clock
and seeing 4:30am? And we are still in from of the fire?. I am still there
reading the book I urgently had an instinct to buy on Friday and read every
word as I knew it would make the world of a difference. I picture him asking me
to read him three chapters by the fire. Read every word of what I learnt to him
in an urgent way. And we discuss and discuss..and connect and connect and hope and
hope that that book and shift in thinking makes the world of a difference. Isn’t
it always a book that saves us in the end? Ending the night and bringing in the
morning with a piece of lemon meringue pie before we sleep. Waking up and
thinking “are we supposed to take the kids skiing today on our last day?” Could
it be possible we are expected to act normally?
I imagine there would be no words to ever describe the
hope, the fear, the pain, the shame and the pride. Words would never ever be
enough I imagine.
So as I dropped him off and said goodbye… and as heartbreaking
and sad and hard as that was-it had nothing on the last few weeks really of
getting to that place. Of the deciding..and admitting..and sharing and waiting.
We have always been way worse at making decisions than living them. We struggle
much more with endings than we do with beginnings.
But now…I am Alone. And so is he. We have never been out
of contact for more than 12 hrs in the last 19.5 yrs.
And I go back home and I look at the empty space where
the blistex and lotion lay so carefully packed for him..and they are gone. I
see his pillow on his side of the bed not there. I feel the book I bought not
there, his robe not on the hook and his slippers disappeared.
And at the same time I can feel him unpacking in his own
place, with the three other people in the bedroom watching. Envy perhaps of all
the love that is there. The frames he carefully choose to bring from the
office, the notes of love they will take away because of the no contact rules,
the note hidden in the perfumed shirt. I feel him resisting, growing changing
and angry even in those first steps of unpacking. Yes anticipating. And somehow
I just know that in the end it will all be ok. Somehow..Somewhere.
Because we have hope and faith. Not in a higher power-but in each other. In ourselves and in one
another. We are the higher power of our lives along with the powerful
universe. We want this. We will get this.
This is the real thing people.
Mostly
I would imagine that the only hidden jewel in crisis for a family is that everyone
gets to see what everyone else is made of. We all get to see the meaning of
cooperation..the meaning of love…the meaning of sacrifice and devotion..we get
to feel it and not just to talk about it. Lucky us right?
And looking at that empty space in my bed. On my
bed…where his slippers and smell once were and knowing that I have to fill them
up. With what shall I choose? Who will I be? I can imagine filling theses spaces
with beauty and love and affection and peace. I can imagine filling my bed and
my heart with peace. And how will I do that? Will I be able too? I will be certain
to also be a different woman when he gets home too-I must be-we have always run
the race together and I have no intention of being left behind. I will fill
that space in the way I want to..I need to. I will fill the empty space with
courage and hope and love and devotion. Will I?
I can only dare to imagine. It’s all I can do. I can make
my imagination as real and as authentic as Grace wants me to-but it’s all in my
imagination. As this is not happening to me..to us. It’s happening to someone else…but could just as a easily be us
Alcohol is poison really and one that
takes over very very very quickly and slowly for millions of people in the
world. It takes over when you least expect it. But it isn’t for us..not yet
anyways. And so for now I will imagine that this nightmare-and this overwhelming
beautiful and hard moments are happening. But not to me.
Grace will be wrting a guest post for my blog next week
(she has her own blog too!). She will share her journey will all of us because
we are trying our best to imagine… you..and I really have no clue at all.
