Warning** Lengthy, boring and personal post.
Why do I write these? Maybe another day I will examine that.
Several years ago when my wife of 28ish years announced she spent enough time raising (if it can be called that ) children and was moving on, leaving me solely responsible for 3 teens and 2 cats.
It was one of the happiest days of my life.
She had been drinking heavily for many years and it was a relief not coming home to a passed out wife with stuff burning on the stove.
Fast forward a few years and the fallout from her years of drinking continue to leak into and out of our lives.
The immediate effect of not hating to go home after work every night was cancelled out by discovering my oldest boy was cutting himself.
Therapy, hugs, talks, helped for awhile. When he realized that part of the source of his anxiety was caused by feelings of rejection by his mother, he moved into another phase of being angry with everything and everyone. This was followed by isolation caused by most of his friends bailing out and not wanting to be with the person he had become.
This brought more isolation. His on again, off again girlfriend ultimately had enough and possibly moved out of state.
This moved him into a deeper self destructive state that I can only guess at.
All I can see are the remains of his actions; scars, smashed up cars, missing alcohol from the house, missing pills, other missing things of value that have probably been sold for drugs. As well as the constant lingering smell of pot around the house whether he was there or not.
I encouraged more therapy, he would make appointments only to not show up. I tried to talk with him, work with him, reason with him, all to no avail. Pot is his savior and anyone who tried to tell him different is against him.
I, unfortunately, can now tell the many stages of pot smells; from the unused still in the bag or jar to the still burning, recently burnt, and pipe that is still in a pocket. I also had to lock up my prescriptions, ammo, guns, and cash or they would disappear.
After several warnings, I ultimately had enough. We came home one night and the house smelled like recently smoked pot and almost all of our alcohol was gone. I emphatically explained that he is no longer welcome in what was his home for his entire life. I was hoping he would see the error of his ways and want to change. A couple days later I changed the locks. He never came back.
As a father I feel like a complete failure. Where could I have helped, should I have (insert action here) with him more. He keeps me awake at night, he make my mind wander in directions it should not.
When other fathers are fretting about how to pay for college and hoping his roomates are good kids from good families, I wonder if I will be planning a funereal and wondering if he will be homeless.
Fast forward another year. I fear I may have completely lost my oldest son.
His pain of matronly rejection has turned into a crutch. His anger has become a shield, keeping everyone in the family away. The past year has been challenging for him and for us. He has been basically homeless, couch surfing as long as he is tolerated and trying to exist with his personal anger and addictions.
All his money goes to, well I can only guess. He has lost his license, his car, two or more jobs, been busted for shoplifting and possession. I have only seen him a few times, mostly he is high or "baked" on pot or pills, not sure what else.
His siblings have had enough of his manipulations and frankly, so have I. Last time I saw him, he stayed with us for two nights on Christmas. After he was gone we noticed money missing out of Tam's purse and another place that he could only have found by searching the house.
I hear he is back with a self destructive girlfriend living in South Haven.
Like his mother, he refuses to acknowledge he has a problem. Like every addict the problem is everyone else not wanting to accept "the way they are".
Accepting responsibility for his own actions is something I seem to have failed to teach him.
As a father my real fears are getting a phone call from the police, hospital, or morgue.
My grandfather (on my Dad's side) said kids from that side of the family are a challenge, if they live to be 25 they will turn out okay. I pray that he is right, I pray my son will live, I pray he will not hurt himself or others. Sometimes I just pray. For what good it does. That is a different subject.
My youngest son took a completely different path, he holed up in his room, kept a few good friends, stayed out of trouble, got some decent grades and is using his energy to make better choices and a better life for himself.
I suspect he has many of the same feelings his siblings have, and someday these feelings will rear their heads and affect his life as much as ever. But for now, he seems to be okay if not a bit moody.
Again we fast forward. He has gotten a very nice apartment with a very nice girl. I would prefer marriage, but he is not killing himself so I take what I can get. He pays his bills, goes to the gym, plans his expenses, plans his future and is hurting like hell. I can see it in his demeanor.
He wants a relationship with his mother, but is always disappointed in her actions. He wants to help his brother, but can't take any more manipulations.
He has immersed himself in his girlfriends family, working on cars and going shooting with her father. He occasionally will talk with me.
He hurts. He is angry. At me, at his mother, at his brother. His anger will surface someday. Anger is the fuel, stress is the flame. He has anger, suppressed, hidden, he has locked away and believes it is under control. Rather it is growing, slowly nearly imperceptibly the fuel is gathering until it will refuse to be contained.
It may be years, probably decades until it will manifest itself. Add the igniter of stress: bills, kids, jobs, all the trappings of first world problems and the fuel will be ignited. How will he handle it?
I believe when it happened to me I came as close to a breakdown as one can get without completely losing sanity. It was touch and go for awhile.
How does one talk to a child about these things? He just thinks his dad is being over dramatic. He believes he is fine. He will ask my how my life turned out. My answer will be unsatisfying to him. (Not at all what I planned!)
My daughter took yet a different path, she never came home and spent a fair amount of time and money to, not only rebel against her mother, but to piss me off. Unfortunately during this period of her life, she chose to have a baby with a complete loser.
He is a loser spawned from several generations of losers.
His issues start with stupidity and work out from there, including but not limited to addictions, theft, an enabling family, and a masters degree in manipulation.
And now I have a grand daughter that has been born into this intertwined domestic disaster and I am being unwillingly dragged along.
During one of her 'piss me off' periods, my lovely daughter moved in with her mother 27 miles away. It was a predictable outcome. They didnt get along in Zeeland, they got along even less in GR. Options were few and tempers flared constantly. And alcohol flowed.
Now she shares custody of her daughter with Losers' family. She works 2nd shift so her mother is supposed to watch granddaughter in the evenings. Sometimes it works out, other times it does not.
Fast forward a year again, and not much has changed in her life. She moved into an apartment, could not afford it, moved in with a friend which didn't work out, and is renting a bedroom in someones home.
While some of these characteristics may be a result of bad parenting, defective gene pool, crappy public school teachers, or the democratic party, I believe having an alcoholic mother creates more chaos than all the other things combined.
It is astonishing how many lives an alcoholic can affect, even ruin. I am sure our story is not over by a longshot. My granddaughter is being raised in several households. All are dysfunctional at nearly all levels. My middle child continues on his quest of self destruction. The other two are going in the same direction at a slower pace.
My only option is to try to remain healthy enough to pick up the pieces when the crashes happen.
Fortunately in my life, I have met someone incredibly understanding with many of the same experiences. She is my strength most times, and I am occasionally hers.
I am grateful for another chance.
