Well, Mother's Day didn't exactly turn out the way my sisters and I had expected.
The past couple of days had been spent planning what we had hoped would be a perfect Mother's Day celebration. We were looking forward to showing mom that we cared about her and had spent lots of time trying to come up with the perfect way to celebrate. Now, if you know me or my sisters then you know how hard it is for us to make decisions when it comes to restaurants, places to go, and gifts to buy, so--needless to say--we spent a considerable amount of time, and put a great deal of effort into trying to make everything just right.
We had agreed on getting together at 4:00 for an early dinner at this incredible Argentine restaurant on Melrose, and were really looking forward to spending the time together, since we rarely get to hang out all at once. So, at about 1:00, my younger sister tries to call my mother on the phone to ask her a question. Her line is busy. Since mom has call waiting we find that a little odd, but figure that she's probably on the phone and decide to wait a while to call back. About an hour later we make another attempt. Still busy.
Finally, 3:45 rolls around and her phone is still busy. My younger sister and I get into my car and I drive to her house. We figure her phone must have gotten knocked off the hook without her realizing. I pull up to her apartment and park in the driveway, leaving my younger sister outside to watch the car since the neighbors tend to go berserk when someone parks there. I punch in the security code to the building; the door buzzes, and I push it open. My mom's apartment is the last one down the hall so I go for a little walk and then knock on the door.
There is no answer.
I knock again, a little louder this time and I hear her dog scratching at the door.
Still no answer.
I knock on the door again and call out, "Hello?"
Finally, a slurred voice replies, "Who's there?"
I answer, "Scott."
"Who?"
"Scott."
"Why are you here?"
"Uhh, we're going out."
"Not until four."
"It is four."
"Umm, shit. Let me get dressed."
"I'll be outside."
I walk back to join my sister outside. When I return to the car I quickly tell my sister what's going on and then call my older sister on my cell phone and explain the situation to her. At this point, I'm not completely ertain if she's drunk. She tells me that she will call the restaurant and push our reservation back half an hour. About 15 minutes pass and we see mom's dog rush to the front door excitedly. My mother is paranoid about that dog and would NEVER let so much as set foot outside her apartment without a leash. She is clearly drunk again.
My younger sister starts panicking. As my mother stumbles to the front door, I hear my sister softly saying, "I'm scared," over and over.
Mom finally picks up her dog and opens the front security door. She says, "I'm going to have to take a rain check," slams the door, turns around, and stumbles back down the hall.
I call my older sister back. "Call the restaurant and cancel the reservation. Mom's drunk as a sailor again," I tell her.
My younger sister is concerned, my older sister is worried; I am livid. None of us are surprised. We agree to go out to dinner someplace less expensive, without mom.
I start the car and peel out of the driveway. I am genuinely pissed off. How could she be so fucking selfish? How could she care so little about us, respect us so little, that she could not restrain herself from getting drunk the one time that she should be happy!? It was a selfish act. That’s what hurt me the most.
A long time ago I reached a point where I no longer really cared when she got drunk. After the divorce she said she had gotten help—that she was sober. I think she thought that she was fooling everyone. Nobody believed her. We knew the truth.
Yesterday was actually the first time that I recall seeing her drunk since she moved out of our house and my parents got divorced. There have been times though when I have called her on the phone and known. When that happens, I quickly end the conversation. I refuse to talk to her when she is in that state.
She called me this morning to apologize. It’s a good thing she was too drunk to call me yesterday. If she had I probably would have gone off on her. Luckily I went to an Al-Anon meeting with my sisters after dinner last night. I was reminded that alcoholism is a disease. At this point, I don’t care about helping her, but I am no longer angry. I am indifferent. I don’t hold it against her. In fact, I feel no emotion whatsoever. I accepted her apology. She will always be my mother and we both know she fucked up. I also know that if I fucked up she would eventually forgive me, and I don’t hold grudges. Despite what she has done, I still—and always will—love her.
The Al-Anon meeting was a great help last night and I have decided to start going on a regular basis. I realized that I need help just as much as she does. My views toward alcohol in general, my relationships with people, have all been greatly perverted because of her alcoholism and my experience growing up with it as a child. Right now I don’t to change how I view alcohol, but I want to start coming to terms with some of the feelings that I can’t seem to express. Feelings that I realize are getting interfering with my own life. Alcoholism is not just the alcoholic’s problem. It’s a problem for everyone around them.
posted at 07:51