Posted by:
catnip
(
)
Date: December 19, 2014 01:34AM
My father died when I was 15. My mother died 29 1/2 years later, to the day. I don't believe that, to her dying day, she ever got over her grief at losing him. She did not believe in expressing grief. The only time she could admit missing him and feeling lonely was when she was so drunk she could barely walk.
She began drinking heavily after he died. She was a registered nurse - a good one - and never drank during work hours. She worked the 7 to 3 shift and would stop at the liquor store on the way home and buy a 6-pack of beer. By the time my grandmother and I had supper ready by 5:30, the last of the 6-pack had been consumed, and mother was so bloated with beer that she was not hungry. Heavy smoking and alcohol consumption: osteoporosis, anyone?
Her speech would get slurred and she would get bitchy. Then she would call people, because she was lonely. You can imagine, being called by a sloppy drunk did not endear her to people. One time, she was pissed at the administrator of the hospital where she was the director of nursing. They had had a run-in over something that was served to a patient at mealtime. I was right there and heard what she said to the administrator. I kept making "STOP!" motions with my hands but she paid no attention. I may have been a dumb teenager who had never held a job but I had enough sense to know that you don't just get drunk and call your boss at home and call him an SOB, even if it is true.
Her severance check was on her desk the next morning.
She got a job in a nursing home after that, just something to tide her over until she could get her widow's Social Security.
Her drinking was one of the reasons I applied for a university fairly far from home. She and I had NEVER gotten along, even when I was little, but after Dad was gone (he had been the peacemaker) and she started drinking, she was intolerable.
She fell and broke a hip (probably drunk at the time) and had to go into a nursing home. For the last decade or so of her life, she remained in some sort of care facility. Nobody would bring her cigarettes or booze, so she had to quit both, cold turkey. That must have been brutal, both for her, and for the people who had to take care of her. She could be EXCEEDINGLY abusive, verbally. Fortunately, I lived hundreds of miles away at that time, and did not have to endure the abuse I'm sure she dished out to everyone else.
Whenever she had to have surgery, I would come home from school to be with her, and I would always let the surgeon know - either verbally or via a note slipped into his hand - that she was a VERY heavy drinker and to please be aware of that at the time of surgery. Frequently, when the surgeon would come out to the waiting room to let me know how things went, he would thank me for letting him know about her drinking. It affected her metabolism and what medicines they could give her.
I tried often to talk her into going to AA. Her first line: "It's nobody else's business." And then the killer, which I consider diagnostic all by itself: "I can quit any time I want to." Yeah. Right.
I was very cautious when I first tried alcohol. If I had discovered any kind of compulsion to keep drinking, I would have stopped, immediately. But fortunately, I did not inherit that gene. I am able to enjoy a single drink with dinner and let it go at that. (And nowadays, I'm not supposed to drink ANY alcohol, but on special occasions I may have a wee snort!)