Tuesday, June 4, 2019

The Little People(pg. 5)


     Dad managed or coped staying sober with his drinking almost 6 months until he had that thirst like most alcoholics crave, and to the liquor store and back to the basement, I came home from work and he was plastered on the couch, he was always quiet when he first started to drink, but trying to hide his drinking was like keeping the sun from shining, impossible. 
     "Well, I see you're back drinking dad, congratulations," I said in an upsetting tone.
     "What? I'm not drinking a thing!" Dad said with an unconcealed slur. 
     "Whatever dad."
     He was truly sorry I know for his own weakness, he was a fragile man, disturbed man, and a very troubled man, he once told me and he was very sincere, that the reason he drank was that each time he felt a convulsion coming on it was like his own death coming, and he never has a convulsion drinking booze. 
     Mom came home and was not surprised he was drunk, she knew he was way overdue for a drinking binge, she remained stoic to the wreck and ruin. My mother was a great woman, really believed in God, and prayed for help every day of worship and prayer. I grew very tired of the unanswered prayers and wandered far away from God, still think to this very day it's all bullshit. 
     "Well make sure he has plenty of water, don't need him prowling at night with those DTs again," mom said with a seriousness only a mother could know. 
     "I already placed a jug of water beside him." 
     "Okay, please don't talk back to him today, I need some peace and quiet," mom said pleading her sanity. 
     "I didn't mom, I know he's a helpless case," I said giving her a reprieve of assurance. 
     The night came and dad was snoring away, he never slept well on any given night and the whiskey was his sleeping medicine. He never slept very long though, always in short durations, then another swig or two, and back to that stupored sleep. Somehow he lived through this cycle for years is still a mystery to me, unbelievable how a person can abuse himself and yet recover time after time. He was an incredible specimen that's for sure. 

                                                                          5  
    

No comments:

Post a Comment

The Mornings Are Hell

The mornings bring their misery and reassurance  of my life’s decline, hollow the marrow of life, empty the cup of hope and filled the plate...