Some Things Never Change

I know I’ve written here, before, about my parents’ use of drugs and alcohol during my teenage years.  It was such a horrible time in my life that to this day, I still cannot be around people who are noticeably altered.  It puts me on edge, and I cannot relax.

I have flashbacks to hearing my younger siblings screaming and crying, as our drunken parents tossed one another around the kitchen.  I am forever haunted by the memory of my dad straddling my mother’s back on the living room floor.  He held her head in his hands and told me to call the police because he was going to kill my mom.

I didn’t know about the drugs at that time.  I didn’t learn about that until they were getting clean.  So, to me, all that ugliness is a result of alcohol, and I won’t be around people who drink to the point of being altered.

My dad passed away in June of ’21, and two of my nieces have moved in with mom, each with their own families.  D is the niece that my parents raised.  She has a three year old daughter and a 16 month old son.  The father of her children initially seemed like a great guy.  Since my dad died, he’s been showing his true colors.

Yesterday was my mother’s 71st birthday.  She spent it drinking, and when my niece’s baby-daddy showed up making his usual stupid demands, he had his mommy in tow.  My mom apparently told him to get the hell off her property, so he called the police and claimed that Mom was trying to keep his kids from him.  I’m not going to go into detail, but he hasn’t done a lot to give the impression that he gives a rip about his kids.

The cops arrived, and Mom apparently made an ass of herself in front of everyone.  I’ve seen her drunk.  I know how she can get.

I’m so angry.  I’m angry that my brothers’ kids take advantage of her, and I’m angry that she was so brutal on my brothers, so they had no idea how to parent without violence.

Mostly, I’m angry that we’ve already lost one parent due to substance abuse.  Our dad shared needles to shoot drugs in the 80’s.  He suffered with hepatitis C and cirrhosis of the liver, years after he’d stopped drinking and drugging and made an effort to become a good parent and an awesome grandparent.  It still took him.

Alcohol took my great great grandfather when my great grandma was only 5 years old.  Alcohol took my mother’s father who we never got to know because he was too drunk to care.  He died alone in a camp  trailer sitting at this table surrounded by empty bottles and cans.  Even Dave, my ex-husband, was drunk when he killed himself by laying down in front of a train.

Mom has come so far since those ugly days.  We’ve healed as a family via many painful conversations.  I was the bad guy in the family for a while because no one wanted to admit that she didn’t protect us, but I needed to address it.

It pains me that she’s willing to throw away all of the healing we’ve done over the past twenty years.  Ok, so she’s numb for a few hours.  Now she’s mortified about her behavior.  That’s forever.