Whew!

Yesterday was the Al-Anon Fun Day which turned out to be a great event.  I was incredibly inspired by the speakers who shared their story.  One was an alcoholic, in AA recovery for 23 years.  The other was an Al-Anon father who took all of us through his journey of the 12 steps. It was powerful stuff.

I think that having these opportunities for people to come together for most of a day, enjoy a great lunch, and listen to inspiring speakers is a great thing.  I got to meet so many people that I hadn't talked with before.  And there was a little memorial set up for a couple of long-timers in the program, including my friend, who died this year.  In fact, the day was dedicated to them which touched my heart.

Because of teaching sailing, going to the gym, sailing, riding and attending meetings, I haven't had much time to be as current on blogs as I would like.  I sometimes think that my heart isn't in this anymore because I stay so incredibly busy.  It's not the running type of busy that I once did, but I am passionately enjoying just about everything that I do.  However, I have to say that I will be glad when I have a few less things on my plate. I am juggling a lot of stuff here lately.  And I prefer to have less scheduled activities and more free time.  I know that I am not going to volunteer for any more things to do in the immediate future!

Once again, it appears that the days are slipping past so quickly.  I wish that they would slow down.  Today we have been putting together another green house for all the plants that will have to come inside before cold weather hits.  With temperatures still in the 80's, I don't know when we will have a cold snap, but I don't want some of the beautiful plants to die.  And the garden is still in a state of disarray, but I do have the fall plants that I hope to get in one day this week.  I have been saying that now for two weeks!

I am going to my cousin's memorial service in Virginia in another month.  I am not looking forward to going, largely because he has been dead since June 2013 and having a service now seems a bit late.  I feel badly that he did not have an obituary so few people even knew that he died.  But I will make the drive up there because I think it is the right thing to do.  I suppose this will be more of a celebration of his life which is good.  I hope that his wife will manage to stay sober because she has been drinking quite a bit since he died.  Her drunken phone calls to me were not ones that I liked, but I listened to her until I couldn't anymore and then said good-bye.  I have few expectations for this.  I will keep an open mind and see what happens.

I hope that you are enjoying some of the Fall weather where you are.

Being an adult child of an alcoholic

I have met quite a few adult children of alcoholics.  Some of them also became alcoholics themselves. And many of them find themselves in Al-Anon trying to figure out why they have felt different, left out, and emotionally abandoned for most of their life. My own story illustrates the characteristics that so many children of alcoholics/addicts feel.

I don't know whether my father was an alcoholic, but I definitely was troubled by his drinking.  One of my earliest memories was of the sheriff bringing him to the house after he broke his shoulder in a single car accident. He was drunk. I was afraid and instantly knew that I did not like what was happening. The town doctor came to the house to set his shoulder, but it was never properly set and had an offset to it from then on.  My father suffered no other consequences--no arrest, no mention by my mother or any one else in the family that I can recall. All just went on as if nothing happened

But I believe that I was also offset from that accident too. Low self-esteem that channels itself into perfectionism, anxiety, and abandonment issues were what I experienced.  My mother did not acknowledge that my father drank. She chose to live in denial. The message that I got was "Everything is fine".  Except to me, it wasn't.

It took me a number of years to get the courage in 7th grade to ask my mother to tell my father to stop drinking. I was embarrassed, angry at him, fearful of him and totally conflicted by the fact that nothing in our house seemed to be okay, even though I was told that we were elite and better than others. I didn't feel elite or better at all.

In order to cope, I learned to play by myself.  I had a little farm set that had a barn, horses, cows, chickens, etc. And I would set that up and play for hours, pretending to live on that happy farm that I invented in my head. I also would visit other families occasionally and wonder if they were "normal".  If I thought something looked "normal", I would try to mimic it.  In so doing, I learned at an early age to invent the ideal family and the ideal self, but I kept running up against the reality of my unhappiness at home. The mask would crack when I realized that the fantasy I was creating of my home life didn't really exist. I kept trying to be perfect and began to blame myself harshly when I wasn't.

My father was a harsh critic of me.  Both parents expected a lot from me in terms of academic achievements. But my father would remind me of all the things that I didn't do right.  I began to think of myself as being better off not having been born. After all, I was born 16 years after my parents were married. I was a "surprise" because they had decided not to have children. And then, here I was--a big disappointment.

In spite of my self-criticism, I learned to be mischievous away from home. I had fun with my friends at school.  I had fun in the summer when my father was at work.  I dreaded the days when he was off work because I knew that he would be drinking. When he was home, I generally went right to my room where I listened to rock and roll on a tiny radio or read books. I remember being on edge when he was around. And when he was gone, I would cut loose with wild abandon.

I tend to be reckless to this day. At certain times in my life I was so responsible it was frightening. At other times I behaved so recklessly that it was amazing I survived.  Often, I was impulsive and didn't give much thought to consequences of my actions.  I try for balance in my life today--not being so rigid with responsibility and enjoying adventures that are not life threatening.

I don't think that I really understood what a healthy adult relationship was like. I didn't see my parents kiss--ever. I didn't see them hug each other.  I didn't hear them tell each other "I love you".  So what I applied in my relationships later in life was not healthy. I was attracted to women who were unpredictable, wild, and who drank alcoholically. I wanted to make someone who was erratic and rejecting fall in love with me.

So in order to get through life and relationships, I learned to be controlling.  I believed that if I were in charge, then somehow things would go my way. And the exact opposite happened.  The love that I wanted, the approval I longed for wasn't given because I was controlling and manipulative. I was often rejected and when I wasn't or when I was successful at something, I didn't believe I deserved it.

It was hard for me to believe that I deserved good things. And even today, I don't like to talk about my successes.  I prefer to hear other people talk about theirs. I feel comfortable isolating and work at putting myself out there to be a part of groups.  It is still hard for me to believe that I can be accepted and actually liked at times. I have gotten much better though at being comfortable around others.

An adult child of an alcoholic is loyal to a fault.  I have often thought that the devil you know is better than the one that you don't.  My mother stayed married to my father.  People in my family didn't get divorced, except for one female cousin who was married three times and was talked about because of it.  And so I learned not to walk away--from anything--when the going got tough.  But alcoholism also pushed me to the point that I was ready to leave my wife. It took me so many years and a lot of sad times to even get to that point though. I learned from my parents that I had a duty to stay with a person, no matter how I was treated.  I thought that it was better to stay with someone no matter what they did because my fear of being abandoned was so strong.

I have long thought that a lot of my behavior is like that of an alcoholic--the "isms" are present--but the drinking is not. Some of us who have been affected by drinking feel most alive when things are in crisis mode. Wanting things to be done right now, instead of deferring decisions is a definite character defect of mine.  I like instant results and have had to learn to disengage from that type of behavior over the years. Being a scientist helped me to temper the sense of immediate gratification. I could look toward the end result but had to make sure that all the steps were done along the way in order to get there.

So for those who have grown up with alcoholism or have children who are in the midst of active alcoholic/addictive behavior in the family, the effects of the disease are likely manifesting themselves right now.  The confusion, denial, and too often chaos of an alcoholic home lead to so many of the things I wrote about above. Don't kid yourself by saying "Everything is fine". The people affected are FINE--*ucked, insecure, neurotic and emotional. And that's not a good way to go through life.  Don't let the drama surrounding the alcoholic/addict be the most important thing in the family.  I hope that you will decide to get help--a 12 step program, therapy, or speaking to a trusted friend will help in letting go of the shame and burdens of alcoholism and addiction.

What I have been doing

I've had a busy time lately.  I spent the weekend on a trip down to the ACE Basin.  I asked a fellow that I know to ride along, thinking that he would give me a hand at the wheel so that I wouldn't be at the helm for 8 hours. I found out that he really doesn't know much about boats.  And that's really okay, because I had made the ASSumption that because he belonged to a boating organization, he might know something.

He is an affable fellow so we had good discussions on a lot of things. He lost his wife six years ago and is still sad about that.  He said that his life pretty much went off track after she died.  Not the drinking kind of off track but just not really there, if you know what I mean.  We talked politics because he shares the same leftist liberal views that I do.  I can tell you that if he weren't, we would have had a lot less to talk about because I don't discuss politics with most people.  We talked about his being Jewish and his going back to synagogue.  And we talked about what kind of boat he would like to get. He spent a lot of time on the iPhone too.

We passed the time and eventually met up with some fellow boaters and sailors at a marina.  Happy hour was pretty happy but not over the top.  And the dinner was at a resort restaurant.  I was seated across from a lady and her husband who were doing the Great Loop which goes up the East Coast.  Interesting stuff, except that she was really snippy and rude to her husband who seemed to want to talk incessantly.  He was working on his third Dark and Stormy, repeating the earlier stories, and she was telling us how she knew who she was at 20 and didn't need to learn much more about herself.  I finally said that I didn't have a clue who I was at 20 and was really getting to know who I was over the past decade.  I am really happy that I have made that progress.  And I know enough to realize that I can last through a two hour dinner with just about anyone, learn something, and then walk back to the boat.

On Sunday, we headed back up the coast to my home port.  I was tired and in need of a good soaking shower when I got home.  But here are some photos of the scenery on the trip.

At the dock

Lots of marsh and lowlands

Storm clouds coming in 

Paddle boarders going by 

A bridge opening on the ICW

Old boat shed along the way

Yes, that is a manned gun boat telling me to stay away. 

And then there is the garden.  It is coming along nicely.  My wife has a green thumb.  We have mulched, planted, amended, and irrigated.   The flowers are her pride and joy.  I like them but am partial to growing the edibles.  I do like the strawberries and blueberry plants.  I had best show you the way it looks now because later in the summer, it will not look nearly as pretty or lush.  

The blueberries!

Irrigating the raised beds

Potatoes coming up 

The walkway to the front door

Today is also my mother's birthday.  I usually write a tribute to her here.  My tribute to her this year is short. She was an inspiration in so many ways.  I miss her every day.  She loved me as her child and taught me about dedication, science, a love for books and research, and to pursue my dreams no matter what.

The illusion and the journey

I received a call last evening that my first cousin, who has been struggling with the worst type of brain tumor for six years, is unresponsive and not expected to live through the weekend.  Evidently the glioblastoma is causing severe edema on the brain.  He has outlived the statistics for this deadly tumor by several years.

He and I grew up together in Virginia, living next door and sharing many adventures. He is three years older than I so he was the one who I followed as a child to learn about the woods and making forts.  We remained close over the years, and he is my closest living relative.

His wife has cared for him since diagnosis.  She has eschewed the prognosis of doctors and embraced spiritual healing for both of them.  In the beginning when she would tell me about the crystals, the invasion of his body by his deceased mother who had many issues of her own, and how the healers were working to rid his body of his mother's tentacles, I thought that she needed the padded room.   But as I listened to her, I respected that she had every right to believe what she did.  Who was I to tell her what to believe or judge her for those beliefs?  

Last night, she told me that he will have a shamanic death in which he will decide to die and not return,  or will die and come back healed.  She spoke of the illusion that she had of his getting well.  Now she has let go of the illusion but keeps her belief that he has to have his journey.  She was calm and accepting.  I listened and asked a few questions to determine whether he was responsive or not.  She doesn't want any family to be there.  I would like to tell him good bye but will do that from afar.

I know that he has received so much love from her.  She has sacrificed herself to give him strength, trying to love him well.  I hope that the transition comes soon and that she is able to have a life for herself without him.  


I cured with the power that came through me. Of course, it was not I who cured, it was the power from the Outer World, the visions and the ceremonies had only made me like a hole through which the power could come to the two-leggeds.  If I thought that I was doing it myself, the hole would close up and no power could come through. Then everything I could do would be foolish. ~Black Elk - Oglala Sioux

Maintaining

First, thank you for your caring comments. The blogging community is really great. It helped to be able to share feelings here and get feedback from you.

Mom goes in and out of being awake. She woke up on Thursday which was when I brought Pop to visit. He was angry at first, probably because he saw that the caregivers were still there and the bedroom had been rearranged to accommodate a small hospital bed.

His anger changed to sadness though when he saw Mom. He held her hand and tried to talk to her. I don't think she knew him because she didn't look at him. He told me he was sad. He also said that there was nothing he could do. I thought about the shock he must have felt to see the house again, his cat, and his wife in her current condition. After about an hour, I took him back to the nursing home. He didn't say a word on that drive.

I took him a milk shake and ice cream yesterday. I pushed his chair to the ice cream social where there was music and a singer. I watched a man who probably had a stoke doing his best to clap and move his arms to the music. Pop just sat, looking down at his lap. The bravado is gone, replaced with defeat. I hate to leave him, but he has made it impossible to bring him home. So much anger, fear and resentment has poisoned how he sees others and that has affected how they see him.

For now, we are all maintaining. The Hospice nurse comes every day. The cat, Pandora, sleeps on the hospital bed. I have taken photos that are too raw and personal to share here. I like what Annie Leibovitz said about her photography of partner Susan Sontag before and after death:
“You don’t get the opportunity to do this kind of intimate work except with the people you love, the people who will put up with you".

Come on and follow me

Sadly, my friend M. died on the evening of July 4.  He went peacefully and in the comfort of his family.  It crossed my mind that he would go that day.  I thought about him as I watched the fireworks, thinking that life is too damn short for some and too long for others.

I had a dream about him last night.  We were together on one of our marine science adventures.  I was trying to find my way, and he told me to "Come on and follow me."  In time, I will.

He will live on in my memories--that smile, his New England stoicism, calling me "Kiddo", hikes through the marsh, talking to his family and having me talk to them, his love for his dog, and his boundless energy and love for his work.  I am the better person for having known him.

Borders

I have finished the classroom part of the Captain's license for un-inspected passenger vessels.  This coming weekend I'll be in the classroom for the Master's license.  This license will be for either a 25, 50 or 100 ton vessel, depending on the amount of sea time that I have and the size of the vessels on which I've worked.  I think that I'll probably have enough time (360 days) on board to get the 50 ton license.

I have five exams to take.  The first two, Navigation General and Deck General, will be taken this Thursday.  I hope to take the next two, Chart Plotting and Rules of the Road, on July 6 and July 7.  After those are done, then I will take the exam for the Master's.  Rules of the Road is the subject that requires a lot of memorization. It is also considered to be the most difficult because out of 30 questions, only 3 may be missed.

I have spent my time studying. I've also found that, while my memory is good, it is not nearly what it used to be.  All the little day shapes and lights and sounds for each vessel type are starting to come together but not at the point where I feel as if I can just reel them off.  I study them for a few hours each day, while also studying for the other exams.

I am not having much fun with this since there is so much material.  It is like being back in college on finals week.  But I keep telling myself that in another couple of weeks, it will be over.  Maybe then, I won't be driving down the road and see two white lights in a row vertically and be thinking "Those are lights for a tug whose tow is < 200 meters".

I have mentally been bemoaning that I haven't been having much fun lately.  And just when I do this, I get a reminder that what I'm doing for these few weeks isn't bad, not dangerous, not going to hurt me.  That reminder came in the form of a share at my home group meeting last night. It was the one year anniversary of J.  I remember when she first came to Al-Anon last summer, a shy young woman who just graduated from high school.

Last night, she told her story of being born in Mexico and at age 9 crossing the U.S. border with her mother and two brothers.  They had been told by the "coyote" to bring enough food and water for a day's walk.  After getting what belongings they could carry, the group of people started walking towards the border.

The walk across the desert turned into three days and four nights during which all ran out of water and had very little food.  J. told of seeing dead bodies as they walked, of people on the journey who became sick and were left behind, of the heat and thirst the group endured.

The group eventually arrived at a house where people brought over by other "coyotes" were staying.  There were perhaps forty people in each room.  The "coyotes" carried guns and threatened to tie concrete blocks to the legs of the children and sink them in the river unless they were paid.  J's mother was waiting on money to be sent from her sister in Florida, but it didn't arrive right away.

After several days with threats from the "coyotes" and with violence among them as one group tried to take guns away from others, the police arrived.  J. and her family escaped from the house during the commotion and found their way to a 24 hour convenience store.  They had no money but thought that they would be safer there than in the woods.

During the late afternoon, a woman and a man drove up in a van.  The woman bought something in the store, came out, and kept looking at J. and her family who were a road worn and sad group.  She eventually came over and asked them if they were okay.  J's mother told her what had happened.  The woman went to the van, said something to her husband, and came back to invite the four of them to their house.  They stayed with this kind couple for three weeks until the money finally arrived from Florida.  The family then boarded a bus that took them to pick oranges in Florida.

After the orange harvest, they traveled to South Carolina to pick tomatoes.  J.'s father arrived here after his border crossing.  The family decided to stay in SC and were offered work on a farm where the mother cleaned, the father and sons worked in the fields, and J. took care of the animals.

Not long after their arrival in SC,  J. was raped by her step-brother who had come to visit.  She was raped later by a cousin as well.  She didn't tell anyone immediately because she had been told that she would be killed if she told.

By this time, she was enrolled in school, being tutored in English and making excellent grades.  The first rape happened on a Sunday.  Because she didn't want to miss school, she went as usual on Monday.  At school, some of her friends knew that she was troubled so she confided in them about the rape.  Soon the teachers knew and J. was taken by a counselor to a hospital where she was examined and evidence collected.

After the rape, she became despondent. She couldn't concentrate in school.  Her grades slipped.  She kept going to therapists but mostly they would ask, "How do you feel today?".  Finally, she was assigned to N. who really listened to her.  J. began to trust N. and talked to her not only about the rape but about how both her parents were alcoholics.  It was through N. that J. got to Al-Anon and the little meeting that I call "home".

J. is a remarkable young woman.  She graduated in the top five of her class in middle school and in the top ten of her Senior class in high school.  She has been verbally and emotionally abused by her father, yet she feels compassion for him.  Her full brother who is a drug addict stole all of her saved money from her.  She called the police who deported him.  She works whenever she can taking care of animals and babysitting.  Her hope is to become an American citizen, go to college and become a nurse.

I know that there are so many people like J.  She has come a long way since struggling across the desert.  She shared that she has found people to trust in Al-Anon, people that she can call, people who won't judge her.  And that she has found her own Higher Power who gives her comfort.

I heard just what I needed to hear from this young person at the time when I needed to hear it.  Amazing how that works.

For the first time, on the road north of Tampico,

I felt the life sliding out of me,

a drum in the desert, harder and harder to hear.

I was seven, I lay in the car

watching palm trees swirl a sickening pattern

past the glass.

My stomach was a melon split wide inside my skin.

"How do you know if you are going to die?"

I begged my mother.

We had been traveling for days.

With strange confidence she answered,

"When you can no longer make a fist."

Years later I smile to think of that journey,

the borders we must cross separately,

stamped with our unanswerable woes.

I who did not die, who am still living,

still lying in the backseat behind all my questions,

clenching and opening one small hand.— Naomi Shihab Nye

My Memorial Day Remembrance

The following are facts. What isn't revealed is the suffering of so many, the human face that goes with each casualty and those who are left behind to mourn.  I never knew the story until I did research about my family and the letters and poems left behind by a mother who lost her only son.

"The 80th Division set sail aboard the SS Queen Mary on July 4, 1944, landing a few days later on July 7 at Greenock, Firth of Clyde, Scotland. The arrival of the 80th Division in England brought the European Theater of Operations total of U.S. Divisions to 22: 14 infantry, 6 armored, and 2 airborne.

The Division proceeded south to Northwich, England via trains for additional training. Training included learning how to waterproof equipment for the upcoming channel crossing. The Division crossed the English Channel in LSTs and Liberty Ships landing in Normandy on Utah Beach shortly after noon on August 2, 1944, D-Day + 57 and assembled near St. Jores, France. A few days later on August 8, 1944, the 80th was initiated into battle when it took over the LeMans bridgehead.

By the end of the war, May 7, 1945, the 80th Division had seen 277 days of combat. It had captured 212,295 enemy soldiers. The 80th Division returned to the United States in January 1946, after spending time in Europe helping to restore and keep peace after the war. The 80th Division had been one of the stalwarts of Patton's Third Army, but it cost them dearly. During their 277 days of combat, the 80th Infantry Division had 17,087 casualties:

Killed in Action	3,038
Wounded	12,484
Missing	488
Captured	1,077
Total Casualties	17,087

According to reports, the 80th Division's "bloodiest day" was 8 October 1944, where approximately 115 Men lost their lives. The "bloodiest month" was September, 1944.

The words on the marker for her dead son who lay buried elsewhere read:

Memorial
To my Son
First Lieutenant Harry Lewis Sadler
Killed in Action Sept 13, 1944
Buried Lorraine France

The other facts are: 

Harry L. Sadler

Captain, U.S. Army

318th Infantry Regiment, 80th Infantry Divison

Entered the Service from: New Jersey

Died: 13-Sep-44

Buried at: Plot F Row 15 Grave 37

Lorraine American Cemetery

St. Avold, France

Awards: Purple Heart

No one else in my family died in a war.  My mother told me that my great grandfather made it back to his home after the surrender at Appomattox with his horse, Old Rock.  He was wounded at Gettysburg, July 2, 1963. He was shot twice the same day. The first wound so disabled him that he could not walk. He attempted to crawl off the field when a fuse plug out of a bomb shell entered his side and lodged under his backbone. He was considered mortally wounded; fell into enemies and was a prisoner for 9 months at Port Lookout, MD. This was a terrible wound and greatly shortened his days. He was at Appomattox Court House and was paroled on April 9, 1865.  My grandmother was only 2 months old when he died.

My uncle was at Normandy Beach and did not talk about what he saw.  I used to wear his uniform which was many sizes too big for me. Another uncle was captain of a troop ship and carried many troops to their destination in World War II.  I have no idea of the sacrifices they made and cannot conjure up what it was like for them.

 To the dead, so many of them lying where few visit or even know the struggle on that ground, I wonder about the brutality of it all,  perhaps as the poet Langston Hughes did:

Ice-cold passion
And a bitter breath
Adorned the bed
Of Youth and Death –
Youth, the young soldier
Who went to the wars
And embraced white Death,
The vilest of whores.

Now we spread roses
Over your tomb –
We who sent you
To your doom.
Now we make soft speeches
And sob soft cries
And throw soft flowers
And utter soft lies.

We would mould you in metal
And carve you in stone,
Not daring to make statue
Of your dead flesh and bone,
Not daring to mention
The bitter breath
Nor the ice-cold passion
Of your love-night with Death

We make soft speeches.
We sob soft cries
We throw soft flowers,
And utter soft lies.
And you who were young
When you went to the wars
Have lost your youth now
With the vilest of whores.

Happy birthday, Elizabeth

Today is my mother's birthday. I can't help but think of her with a mixture of happiness and sadness. She was certainly a woman of many contradictions.

She was my best friend when I was a child. We always had a number of interesting things to do. Every summer there would be a project for me to work on that involved biology.  She believed that learning could be fun, and she made it so.  I would hatch out insects and study the life stages. I would grow tadpoles into frogs. I had my own microscope and would make slides from my blood, onion skin, algae, etc. We went into the woods and along ponds and streams to collect and study various things.  I knew all the moths and butterflies in the area.  This was what she taught me.

She was a Latin and English teacher who loved science. She also loved history and wrote a book on history of our county. She graduated from college and took graduate courses, all things that women of her generation hardly ever did. She was an elected official and was in all sorts of clubs. My mother was one of the most interesting people that I ever met. She was also one of the saddest.

From an early age, I can remember my mother having a very closed view of our little world. She was a proper lady when she needed to be and could be very haughty and judgmental if she was put on the defensive. She was always in denial about our family.  Her sister was a recluse.  Her father suffered from depression.  My father drank heavily at times.  But she refused to see any of this.

Instead, she told me many times to "remember who you are and where you came from", referring to our family tree.  This was very confusing to me since I didn't think that we lived any better than anyone else or that we were any better than others. I liked just about everybody and to this day have an affinity for the people who aren't loved because they aren't good looking or rich or powerful. I am a friend to the underdog, I guess.

Anyway, my mother always wanted me to be the best. I had to have the best grades and succeed academically. She didn't have to push me much because it was what I wanted also.  All of this fed right into being affected by alcoholism because perfectionism in the midst of pain is how I coped.  I know that she was proud of my accomplishments though.

Mother could be very vain and put on great airs. In later life, those kinds of things could be excused, but they still bothered me. She suffered from severe depression from age 70 on. I made sure that she got treated.  My father didn't know what to do.  I can remember him crying because he could not make her well, and he didn't understand what was wrong with her.

She was treated with all kinds of drugs, but nothing seemed to work.  So after bringing her from Virginia to SC, she was put in the psychiatric institute where she began a series of shock treatments (ECT).  She had hundreds of ECT's over the course of her depression. She was hospitalized many times, and each time she was admitted, she would come out more mentally fragile than before. Anything could trigger a major depression such as getting a cold or not knowing how to work a microwave. But, when she wasn't depressed, she could have such  fun. Everything seemed to be a treat for her. It was as if life was a big candy store.

In her last years, she lived in a nursing center where she was the "social director". She always dressed beautifully and had a lot of friends among staff, visitors, and residents.  She became more beautiful with age.  If she approved of you, she could be charming. If she didn't, well, you never knew whether she would be cold or just neutral. I think that her depression had a lot to do with her attitude. Most times when I would visit her or bring her home, she would be busily writing or reading. She loved to make inventories of all the antiques and delighted in genealogy. I guess that the inventory I made on myself is probably one that she never thought about.

Mother died peacefully at age 95 in 2005. I know that she was an exceptionally bright woman who had inherited a terrible illness.  I don't know that she ever acknowledged how much my father drank.  I think that she denied so many things rather than face reality.

Depression robbed her of a lot because the ECT treatments wipe out short term memory. I'm just glad that her last years were spent being cared for well and being around those who loved her. Happy birthday Elizabeth. I still love and miss you.

Keeping my mouth shut

I went to visit my father-in-law yesterday.  He was confused,  not making much sense when I was talking with him.  Until yesterday, all his days in the nursing home had been good.  He had walked around the halls, gone to the physical rehab gym, read magazines, and talked with the staff.  Yesterday, he wasn't coherent and was in bed.

The confusion may be relating to the levels of ammonia building up in his brain.  So he is being given lactulose to try and remedy that condition.  Cirrhosis of the liver inhibits removal of ammonia, a byproduct of protein breakdown, which then builds up and causes confusion.

My wife has not gone to see her father yet.  She says that she simply isn't ready to see him.   Today she flew to DC to pick up a lifetime achievement award for her scientific work.  I talked to her a few minutes ago, and she said that it was a nice ceremony.  I know that she needed this break for just a couple of days to see colleagues, friends, and former students.  She also said that she wants to see her dad when she gets back.  I think that will be a good idea. 

I know that each of us has to deal with uncomfortable situations in our own time.  I know that I want her to visit her dad.  But I won't tell her what to do.   I would like for her to have a sponsor.  I feel strongly that having a sponsor is important in recovery.  But how she works her program is not my business. 

It's good that I have learned to keep my mouth shut, even when sometimes I have to bite my tongue hard.  It is so tempting to direct the lives of others. Allowing her to make the choices that she wants without interference from me keeps us on good terms with each other.  It allows her to figure out what works without my interference.  And that makes life a lot easier. 

"Life is fraught with opportunities to keep your mouth shut". ~Winston S. Churchill

More was revealed

When a friend went to visit my father-in-law yesterday, I met him at the nursing home. I had more clothes to drop off and some laundry to pick up. He took those things back to Pop. They talked for a few minutes. When he came back to the nurses' station, he said, "Hey man, he seems to be in a good mood so what if I ask him if he wants to see you?". He came out nodding yes.

When I went in the room, Pop smiled at me and asked how I was doing. Well, I sat down next to him and told him how sorry I was for my actions the other night. I told him that I hoped we could still be part of each other's lives. When he said that things happen sometimes and all is okay now, I felt such relief.
It was one of those moments when a great weight is lifted. It is like the soul lets out a deep sigh.

So we had a good visit. My friend, D., likes history so Pop told him stories about the naval war in the Pacific. The nurses said that they liked Pop and thought that he was "sweet". What a difference a few days made.

When I called my wife, she cried. She did not want to be estranged from her dad. I realize that all of this is one day at a time, but I do think that by understanding more about his disease, I am better prepared for any change in mood. He is on a mood stabilizer which helps him, but I can't help but think that other things factored in. My friend D. who has been a recovering alcoholic for 21 years can be witty, charming and disarming. The Higher Power provided a positive energy and opportunity. I know that things can change, but I said what I wanted to say to him with love and no anger.

We left on the boat early this morning to catch the tide. So far, we have walked on the beach, read and slept. It has been a good day. Tomorrow evening, we will head back and C. will visit her dad. Her mom is visiting tomorrow afternoon. For the moment, things seem positive and possible.

What money can't buy

Today, my father-in-law is supposed to be discharged from the hospital.  He is going to a nursing home where he will have a private room.  None of us, including the doctors and social worker, think that he should come home.  This is reality, but it is still difficult.

Yesterday, we put together clothes for him.  The clothes included the new ones that he got for Christmas.  It was just a little over a month ago that he was here, opening his presents, having a good meal, and sharing Christmas with us.  He seemed happy.  We added his new robe to the pile of clothes--the one that he got for his birthday on January 15.  Something happened between the time we gave him these things and now.

I talked to a lady after the meeting last night.  She said that her father went crazy after recent surgery, hitting his son, spitting on her, screaming and throwing things.  He is now in restraints and is wearing a face mask at a local hospital.  She said, "This isn't my dad. What happened?".  I don't know really.  What I think is that parts of the brain are dying, and the circuitry that is left isn't really enough to sustain what used to be a sociable person.

I have learned that money talks in all of this. It is all about money.  The nursing home manager wanted to know whether there was enough money for him to have a private room and for his wife to have her 24 hour a day caregivers at home.  Is this something that is any of her business?  I don't know.  I simply said "Yes.".  She was sure there was a great room for him then.

The bank manager was suspicious of my wife when she went to inquire about how much her dad had withdrawn when he escaped with the car the other afternoon.  She was told that he did not want her to have access to any of his accounts.  C. said she felt like a criminal but bravely produced the durable POA.  The bank manager then asked her a lot of questions about what happened and how he seemed so nice the other afternoon, just before he came home and went crazy.  None of her business, but C. answered as best she could: "I don't know really. He just went berserk. Maybe dementia or Alzheimer's. We don't know."

We left the bank knowing that we had to find the money he withdrew and deposit it back in the bank.  Eventually, we found it--a fat stack of $100 dollar bills.  What was he planning to do with it?  It was enough to pay for one month in the nursing home or go on a nice cruise to the Mediterranean.  I don't know.

There is so much that we don't know right now.  What we do know is that he will be in a safe place, have a nice room, be well taken care of, have clothes and food.  But he won't be with his family.  Money can't buy that.

What I Needed

We decided on the spur of the moment to drive to the AA conference in Hilton Head. I am so glad that we went. We heard some wonderful speakers yesterday. They provided humor and inspiration. I came away feeling that I had been exactly where I needed to be. After the last week, it was time to surround ourselves with those who could offer their solution to difficult situations.

As we were driving back last evening, we talked about our resolve to make sure both parents have what they need. Neither of us is happy that they may have to live separately for a while. But until we know that Mom won't be verbally abused, we are going to keep them apart, except for visiting.

I want this to be over. I want my wife to feel good again. I want the family unit to be together. But I realize that this isn't up to me. I cannot make things be okay. We simply will work through all this stuff as best we can. Things change so quickly. Others live with horrible situations every day. That doesn't comfort me. But I am grateful that we have a fellowship from which we do draw comfort. We are able to get what we need from the collective strength of so many.

A brand new day

Over the last 24 hours, I have come to a much better place in my head--a place of forgiveness for me and for my father-in-law.  I talked to my sponsor,  I talked to my Higher Power, I read your comments and emails.  TAAAF over at Through an Al-Anon Filter wrote the following to me:

"I've been in that place of being appalled at my own "reptilian reaction" and it was excruciating; I'd really thought I was getting somewhere in my recovery.

I'm grateful for my first sponsor, who reiterated enough times for me to hear her, that I was only human, and the reason we have Step 10 is because we are going to continue to be wrong. No way around it. We may have only a few years in 12-Step, we may have 25, but we are going to screw up. Regularly. At times, spectacularly.

 

When we lose control, we may feel shame, or unworthy, embarrassed, humiliated, depressed. Perhaps we begin to wonder whether our perceived recovery is all a smoke screen we're hiding behind, and we haven't really changed at all - all perfectly normal responses to that rush of rage, and however we acted while in its grip.

 

You're a good man who loves his mate, and she was being threatened - that bypasses all the civilized veneers, and taps into the primal self.

 

Examine it, take your own inventory, make an amend however you choose to do so, and after discussion with your sponsor, then move on. You are not one scrap less of a wonderful loving and good-hearted man now, than you were the second before your response. You're the very same man, who has learned something new about himself."

 

Yes, I have learned something about myself, although I knew the survival and self-defense mechanisms were there already.  Another comment led me to read about elder rage (thank you, Lena, for suggesting the book--it has been ordered).  I have a much better understanding of the Jekyll and Hyde personality changes that we have been seeing.  Hopefully, more will be revealed from evaluations by geriatric psychiatrists and the internal medicine doctors.

I do have flashbacks of what happened.  I am forcing the images out of my head, but they aren't gone. And I am grieving the change in, and perhaps loss of,  a relationship that I have had for a long time.  But I am not blaming myself.  My wife feels better as well, after reading your comments and information about elder rage.  Neither of us has experience in dealing with a situation like this.  We are learning, have the legal system backing us, have talked with DSS, and know that we are doing the best that we can to protect both of the parents and keep them comfortable.

The best thing is that my mother-in-law was playing cards and listening to jazz yesterday.  She was happy and having a good day in her little world.  No one was yelling at her.  We each deserve peace in our lives no matter how it is achieved.

A chasm of rage

The fissure of the tentative rock that sort of held us together as some sort of cordial family unit has become a broad chasm.  All attempts at civility and kindness have been replaced by anger and full out rage.

We spent all of last night in the ER with both in-laws. She was in because she fell in a melee of anger.  He is there for a psych evaluation and an attempt to stabilize his mood.  It was one of the worst nights that I have spent in a long time.   My father-in-law wants nothing to do with his daughter or with me.  We are dead to him at the moment.  All the seething rage that could be brought forth was spewed on us.  And there was also spewing back.  I feel sick and sad.

Right now, I don't know what my amends will be.  When he shoved and screamed at his own daughter, it was too much for me.  Enough said.  I am out of his life.  After all these years, it has come to this.  And his daughter, my wife, has also been ex-communicated, rubbed out, and hollowed out by all of this.

I have much processing of my reaction to do.  I am appalled at my own reptilian reaction.  That being said, I am somewhat relieved to no longer be a part of some tragic play where people are pretending that there is no elephant in the room.  Right now, all is calm because the elephant is in restraints.  Yet the echo of his rage is still ringing in my ears.

Time for some merciful sleep.

What's happening today

Well, it's Friday, and the political craziness continues in this old town where the Civil War began.  It's heating up for the Republican Primary tomorrow.  More self-destruction happened last night during the debate.  It's like a bunch of piranhas feeding on each other.  Eventually, there are just pieces and parts left.

I'm going to go out on the boat for about four days.  The temperature is going to be great--warm during the day with cool nights.  My spirit is needing a respite from politics and family.  I am needing a brief geographic cure, just to put some things on the back burner.

One of the things that has seared me in the last couple of days was overhearing my father-in-law say that I had not done much for them.  The scenario was that I stopped by to check on them.  My mother-in-law said to Pop that it was nice that I had stopped by.  His reply was: "What has he ever done for us?".  That one cut deeply.

I don't need to defend myself against the comment.  I know what I have done.  And I know that he is old and angry.  Nonetheless, such an appraisal is one that makes me realize that we either know each other too well or not at all.  That seems to be the way with many human relationships.  It's a pity, really.

So I'll get away from it all for a few days.  I'm going to sear my mind with sunny days, sparkling water,  beach sand, and fair winds.

Try to understand men. If you understand each other you will be kind to each other. Knowing a man well never leads to hate and almost always leads to love. ~John Steinbeck 

Hoppin' John

I made it to my destination in Florida.  Traffic was surprisingly light.  I was driving 75 mph and people were flying by me like there was a firecracker up their butt.  People in Florida sure do put the hammer down.

My main concern on the drive was getting some collard greens and Hoppin' John.  Hoppin' John is the Southern US version of a traditional rice and beans dish eaten throughout West Africa.  It consists of black-eyed peas or field peas and rice, with chopped onion and sliced bacon or ham hock. Smaller than black-eyed peas, field peas are used in the Low Country of South Carolina and Georgia; black-eyed peas are the norm elsewhere.

Throughout the coastal South, eating Hoppin' John on New Year's Day is thought to bring a prosperous year filled with luck.  Collard greens, kale, turnip greens, and mustard greens eaten along with this dish are supposed to add to the wealth since they are the color of money.  Another traditional New Year's Day food, cornbread, also represents wealth since it is the color of gold.

I was getting worried until I found a diner where they served up the money and good luck as part of a vegetable plate along with some corn bread. I was happy! So if you missed out on some peas, greens, and corn bread, there is always next year.

Today, I'm going to mosey around a bit.  Maybe check out the marinas.  I'll help my friend get settled in his accommodations where he will be studying for the next few weeks.  I've already checked the Al-Anon schedule and will be going to a meeting tonight.  I'm going to call the local AIS to make sure of the meeting schedule.  We will probably also hit some open AA meetings as well.  There is a 12 step house not far from here.

The first day of 2012 has been good to me.  But it has been hard on others. My wife misunderstood when the caregivers were returning so she spent New Year's Eve at her parents' home.  She got home yesterday around noon and was so relieved.  I know that she won't be doing the night shift for an entire week again.  I told her that I thought it would be too much and now she agrees.

And to the bloggers out there who have been having troubles with family members, all I can say is take care of yourself.  Giving up your own life to try to save someone else's doesn't work.  Two people are then lost.  I know that you love your child, spouse, husband, friend, etc. but you cannot save them.  And meanwhile the "normal" people in the family become less happy and more mixed up in the disease of alcoholism/addiction.  It took a lot of painful reminders for me to finally understand that I was not only harming myself but others when I tried to love them out of their disease.  If you think that you have that kind of power, I have news for you--the disease will kill you from stress, worry, and anxiety.  The martyr role is not going to stop the disease either.  I finally understood the words "keep the focus on yourself" that my sponsor hammered into me.  I get it.

Okay, that's it for now.  Time to find a grocery store.

My father's birthday

Today is my father's birthday. I thought that I would share some of my memories of him.

My father enjoyed his birthday. The day meant something special to him. When I was a kid, my mother and I would surprise him with presents and a home made card. I wanted to make sure that I had a nice present for him.

I can remember a set of cuff links that we bought. He wore them many times and they seemed to accent his starched white shirt. I still have those cuff links as well as many other things that belonged to my dad.

After I was out of the home and married, my wife and I would take him presents. He was always appreciative of our thinking of him. I could tell that he still had that little bit of child within him on this day.

He was born in the big farm house on a snowy morning in Virginia. I talked to a very elderly lady many years ago who remembered how my father's elder sister ran across the snowy fields to tell the neighbors of his birth. It was a happy occasion that a son was born.

After he died, it gave me a lot of pleasure to hear about his birth from someone who had been there and seen him when he was a baby. It made him seem alive in their memory of him.

My father would share a lot of stories about growing up on the farm. He told me about getting up on cold mornings and running down the stairs to stand in front of the fire in the dining room to get dressed. He told me about mornings that he and his father would ride on horseback for several miles to meet up with other riders for fox hunting. He told me about hog killing time and curing of meat in the smoke house. He shared about oystering and fishing on the family schooner. It was a different day and time back then. But I was spellbound by his stories.

One of the more poignant things that he told me was that for Christmas there would be candy and an orange or apple in his stocking. This would make me cry because of guilt that I got so much. I think now that my father might have been doing a bit of manipulating as his parents weren't poor. Maybe it was his way of making me feel grateful for those things that I received.

He never forgot the community though and would go to visit old neighbors whenever he could. At Christmas, he would take gifts to those old timers that lived near his birthplace. He enjoyed sitting around a fire and talking to them about the old times. I believe that he was a romantic at heart.

The farm was sold and the old farmhouse fell into disrepair. At least I have photos of it. And I did an oil painting of it when I was a young teenager. I remember going in the farm house and seeing my father's room upstairs. The house was empty then, with only the echoes from his past still present. I always thought that was sad and developed a feeling at that time that houses have souls too. I still believe that.

Many of the people that he grew up with have died. All of his siblings are dead. One died from alcoholism. I don't know what happened along the way in life for her or my father to have decided that drinking was a source of solace. It's a question that everyone asks who has an alcoholic relative. How did the child born in innocence become tainted by life?

Anyway, I guess all this rambling is to tell you that I still miss my dad. I would like for him to know that I'm thinking about him on his birthday. I like to think that his spirit lives on in me.

Miracles can be

I just read a post by Lou that makes me sad.  No matter how hard I try, it is hard for me to not have some spark of an expectation for others.  And with that spark, I set myself up for a big fall.  I don't know that words of comfort can make the anxiety go away, the second guessing of what went wrong, the heartache of disappointment.  But I am sure that Lou would appreciate some positive thoughts if you are so inclined.

I see so many joys that people have with their children.  And then I see the heartache that can come.  Maybe my wife and I had some prescient notion that for us to have children would have been disastrous.  I remember the words of a friend telling me that it wasn't the birth that one had to worry about, it was the life.

And the life is a flow that can't be controlled.  It moves and twists, travels rapidly or barely makes progress.  A million circumstances can intervene so that in a second all is altered.  Frankly,  I did not have the courage to have children.  I knew that I would not have been a good parent--too little patience, too much hovering, too much anxiety.  And the idea of loss would have been too much to handle, hanging like the sword of Damocles over my head all the time.

I am in awe of those who have the courage to bring children into the world, love them, provide for them, and treat them with respect.  It has to be one of the most difficult "jobs" to be a parent.  Wanting to protect your child from all the hurts of the world, yet knowing that through the hurts, the child will grow stronger--or not,  has got to be hard.   We both had enough pain in our own childhood to not want to repeat the history.

The growth from child to adult is a miracle no matter what happens.  And I do believe that there are miracles happening for each of us.  Don't give up before one comes into your life.

Listen to the mustn'ts, child. Listen to the don'ts. Listen to the shouldn'ts, the impossibles, the won'ts. Listen to the never haves, then listen close to me... Anything can happen, child. Anything can be. ~Shel Silverstein

Perceptions

It has been an astonishingly beautiful weekend with cool temperatures, just right for snuggling in the morning.  We have lazed around, fixed breakfast, taken naps, and not done much that is productive.

Last night, we stayed with C.'s dad so that the live-in caregivers, Elias and Karin, could have the night off to go to dinner.  My mother-in-law is back in the hospital after fainting on Friday.  It may be a blood pressure problem, but she is staying in the hospital until they figure out what is wrong.  My father-in-law griped about the doctors, especially the female physician his wife sees.  He thinks that she doesn't do her job, is not giving good care, and so on.  My wife sees the same doctor and has a completely different opinion, finding her caring, attentive, and skilled.  Perceptions can be so different, depending upon what filter we are viewing others through.

Some studies have shown that those who describe others in a positive way are indeed more positive and happier themselves.  The tendency to describe people negatively is a sign of depression and other mental health issues.  I have decided that it is much easier for me to be around those who have a happy outlook.  I don't want to spend a lot of time with someone who is downing others.

I see myself as a person who has a positive outlook about people and life. I have been a "glass is half full" person as far back as I can remember.  Even at times in life when things weren't good,  I had hope that the next day would be better.  Early in recovery,  I sometimes had to try to quiet my mind from negative thinking and panic for just 15 minutes.  My fear was getting out of control.

Gradually though, my perceptions have changed.  I don't feel as gripped by fear now.  I wish that I could help others to see that perceptions can be so distorted, tricking us into thinking the worst about people and situations.  But I can only do my part to keep myself on the optimistic path and continue to be around those who exude some positive energy.