He would drink, get aggressive, and him
and my mom would fight; sometimes they would just yell and sometimes things
were thrown and the police would pay a visit. But this time it was different
because he had promised he wouldn’t drink and he broke his promise to all of
us. He’d made promises before but this time I had warned him that this was the
last time and that we have all had enough… That “he” was my father.
According
to Alcoholism Statistics, today in the United
States alone, there are an estimated 28 million children who have alcoholic
parents. This figure is staggering when it is considered that at least 11
million of those children are under the age of 18.
He’d make scenes at family parties and would
not be able to remember the embarrassment and frustration he’d caused the night
before. There was an instance where we had visited family in Palmdale, a
two-hour drive from home, and he refused to come home with us; he made a scene
in front of everyone. He said we could leave and that he was going to stay and
keep drinking. So we left him. Of course, the next day he was upset and angrily
stated that he never said that. That’s how it always was, really. We’d have to
deal with the consequences of his drinking. Then we would all forget about it
until it happened again.
According to an article, Effects
on Children of Alcoholic Parents, parents who abuse alcohol place their
children at increased risk for alcohol and other drug use as well as
psychological problems. The article adds that “although the ramifications of
living with an addicted, alcoholic parent are variable, nearly all children
from alcoholic families are at risk for behavioral and emotional difficulties
live with scars–psychological or physical–as a result of parental alcoholism.”
I
think we forgot because it seemed easier that way. But eventually, like always,
it caught up with all of us. I think what hurt the most was that he chose to
keep drinking instead of us. He wanted to numb his pain but he didn’t know that
he was numbing more than his pain and deteriorating our relationship. We were
not worth it. I was not worth it.
It was
around April of 2014. He made a scene that was by far one of the worst I had
ever experienced. It was an intertwinement of chaos, rage, sadness, and
disappointment. But after a series of events he comes back from Mexico after
his month long absence. He walks in our house as if nothing has changed. The
audacity. My anger bursts and I
start telling him how his negligence has broken this family. On the other hand,
my oldest, who at the time had already gone years without speaking to him after
yet another drunk incident, tells me to stop talking to him. But I ignore him.
I take a deep breath and I tell my dad, “Let’s talk just you and I.” I’m not
sure what came over me. I felt the need to talk to my dad— a real conversation
with him sober. Something that I cannot explain simply came over me. His level of surprise stemmed due to the fact
that his youngest and only daughter, who had not spoken to him in a month, was
giving him a chance to explain himself.
I
told him how I feel and how everything I do is for him, for all of his hard
work and sacrifice. That my motivation comes from when he tells me to work hard
so that I won’t have to work hard like he did, yet he doesn’t let me focus with
his drunkenness. When I have papers due or other assignments and he is
negligent and I am unable to focus—what then? He tells me that things are
different now. That it won’t ever happen again. Things are different because
his life is stake that if he continues on this route he could end up in a coma
and never wake up.
“So
you want to stop drinking now because it is beneficial for you not because of your
family?” He looks at me with a face of astonishment. His eyes pierce into mine
and his voice cracks; the Television plays in the background. “You’re not a
little girl anymore. Forgive me,” he tells me. And I did. I had to forgive him.
He was the father God gave me. For some reason, things were meant to be this
way. My dad was fighting his own demons. He would tell my mom how he couldn’t
control himself sometimes. His dad, my grandfather, would hit him when he was
drunk was growing up.
According
to The Surgeon General’s Call to Action to Prevent and Reduce Underage
Drinking, “Children from families of alcoholics are at
increased risk for alcohol dependence throughout their lives. More than three
decades of research has firmly established that genes account for over half of
the risk for alcohol dependence, and environmental factors account for the
remainder.”
His personal experiences marked his
childhood and shaped him into the man he would later become. And I think he
turned out well despite it all. Our relationship was an emotional
rollercoaster, that’s for sure, but I think that’s what made it so beautiful;
despite everything he had been through, everything he had put us through, he
finally made the decision to change.
His last year on this earth he spent demonstrating
commitment and true love for his family. He stopped drinking. His relationship
with me began to flourish; something I always knew was there just hidden
somewhere. He started working again, and my parents finished paying off our
house after 25 years. Now, after two years without him, this is the last thing
I remember. I recall his unconditional love for his children, his sense of
humor, his need to make us smile when we didn't have it in us, and his dance
moves that he thought were cool when a popular song came on.
It’s not how many times you fall but
rather how you pick yourself up after the fall.
http://www.alcoholanswers.org/alcohol-education/emotional-effects.cfm
http://www.alcoholism-statistics.com/family-statistics/
https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/books/NBK44366/
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