“The axe forgets, but the tree remembers”

My father was VERY verbally abusive when I was growing up. He had his favorite insults, which are burned into my brain: “scumbag”, “liar, cheater, stealer”, “do nothing taker”, “loser”, “thunder thighs”, among others. Ever since he stopped drinking a couple of years ago, his behavior has improved immensely, but he still uses insults regularly. Oftentimes, they are directed to women on TV. His new favorite word is “bimbo”. Although I am glad to not be the direct target of his insults, it still makes me very uncomfortable because he has a wife, two daughters, and two granddaughters. I have admonished him before about using this derogatory language in front of my nieces, but he just continues to do it.

I attempted recently to help my parents downsize their house and move closer to my sister and me. My mother was very interested and even excited at the opportunity. It is an understatement to say my father was NOT. He barely would even entertain the idea and because I was the person who introduced the topic, he became angry with me. One day he told me that he and my mother got into an argument about moving and yelled at me that I “ruined his life”. A couple days later he called me a “scumbag daughter”. Both of these comments were completely unprovoked by me.

It REALLY bothered me for several days that he told me I ruined his life. Obviously I can see the irony in this statement, considering he ruined the majority of my childhood with his alcoholism and abuse. It also hurt my feelings because I was honestly just trying to help them by telling them about the opportunity to live near their grandchildren, who they are with every day. I also feel so bad now because I could tell my mother was genuinely excited at the idea and my father was so nasty about it. He was completely unwilling to compromise and when my sister tried to have a conversation with them about it at the dinner table, she said he got irrationally mad and lunges towards my mother. It is just unacceptable that he is using insults and fear to manipulate us and still has most of the power in our family. I am just as guilty as my mother and sister of not putting him in his place. We all just let him get away with what he says and how he acts.

AND the worst part of it all? He forgets. He says these hurtful, horrible things and then claims he doesn’t remember. A few days after he made the comment about me ruining his life, I brought it up and he was like “I didn’t say that”. It doesn’t seem like gaslighting, he genuinely seems like he doesn’t remember. It’s so frustrating. How do you hold someone accountable for something when they claim they don’t remember even doing it? I don’t know if he is lying or genuinely forgets, but it honestly doesn’t matter because the damage is done. Every time I start to feel comfortable in a normal father-daughter relationship with him, he does something like this to remind me that it will never be a normal relationship and I always need to be on guard with him.

He told my mother that he wants to continue living in their house and die there. He will most likely get his way about that, at the expense of the happiness of his family.

A cry for help

There is a little girl across the street from my sister’s house who is a couple of years older than my five year old niece and the two of them hit it off and became fast friends. She comes over almost every day to play with my niece (I will refer to the girl as A.) A. has two older brothers and her parents spoil her lot (she seems to really rule the roost at her house), but they often take advantage of my sister’s generosity when it comes to watching their child. A. is bossy to my niece and often does not have the best manners. My family nicknamed her “Kimmy Gibbler” (Lol! If you know, you know…). I find A. quite annoying and I do not think she is a great influence on my niece’s behavior, but she still is a child, so I always try to be nice to her. If I pick up a little gift or candy or balloons for my nieces and I know A. is at the house, I get an extra one for her. My sister makes sure she has A.’s favorite juice boxes, even though her girls do not ever drink them, and she often makes her plain, buttered noodles for dinner since she is a picky eater.

I think my sister and I both got the impression early on that A. gravitates to my sister’s house for a reason and that something was not right at A.’s house. A.’s mother is originally from Russia and is a very sweet woman. When I first met A.’s father I definitely got a negative vibe from him. Another neighbor told my sister that she had once called the police out of concern after overhearing loud arguing coming from A.’s family’s house. A. would occasionally say disturbing things about her family. When my niece had her first wiggly tooth, we were having dinner and talking about it. A. said something about her older brother losing a tooth when their dad hit him in the face. My sister and immediately locked eyes across the table.

One day over the summer, A. had eaten dinner at my sister’s house and it was getting dark out, so I offered to walk her home. She told me just her dad was home and that she needed to use the back door, so we headed to the back of the house. The back door was locked. She rang the doorbell and no one came to the door. A. started to knock loudly on the door and I heard her father scream, “fucking go away and stop fucking knocking!” in a really furious voice. My heart immediately started to race and I swear I had a moment of PTSD of my father yelling at me in the same kind of tone. I calmly took A.’s hand and said, “let’s go back to my sister’s and wait for your mom.” This was the first of two occasions that I heard her father scream at his seven year old daughter like that . It bothered so much and my sister and I talked about it a lot, but both agreed there really was not much we could do, except to offer A. a safe space. My heart went out to a little girl that I could unfortunately relate to all too well. Even though no one explicitly said it, I just assumed her father was a drinker, most likely because of the parallels to my own dad.

The other day, A.’s mother confided in my sister that things have gotten worse and that she is concerned that all of the fighting that has been happening between her and her husband has been negatively affecting their children. Their middle school aged son has been suspended two times from school for fighting. She told my sister that her husband has been drinking more and is in “denial”. I feel so bad for her and the children, and it is a helpless feeling to know that someone is in a bad situation like that. It is also bringing up a lot of negative memories about my own childhood and what my sister and I experienced with my parents.

It makes me wonder if my mom ever tried to ask anyone for help or how many people tried to help her. A lot of our neighbors knew that my dad was abusive, evidenced by how often they called to police to come to our house. My paternal grandmother supposedly offered to give my mother money to divorce and leave my father. I just don’t know what my sister can- or should- do. I said that we should put together some resources for her. My sister is in a group text with a few other women on her street, who are all concerned and are on alert to watch out for the children if they need help.

It is just SUCH a sad situation. As much as “Kimmy Gibbler” drives me crazy when she is at my sister’s house, I have so much empathy for her. Being the child of an alcoholic, and an abusive one, has defined and shaped a lot of my life. It is difficult to reflect back on how terribly my father treated my mother and my sister and me. I never want anyone else, especially a child, to experience that. I know I am making assumptions and I do not really know what is going on in A.’s house, but I do know that she wants to be at my sister’s house for hours and hours every day and there is most likely a reason why. I am so proud of my sister for breaking the cycle and creating such a safe and happy home for my nieces…and for A.

Running into (and away from) your ex

I got divorced in January of 2010, walked out of the courtroom, hugged my ex husband one last time, got in my car and drove away and never saw him again. Welll, that’s not 100% true, because there was one time about seven years ago that I saw him in the food store and hid in the bread aisle until I could run out, but that had more to do with the fact that I looked like a slob and was in my pajamas, rather than not wanting to see him because by that point I could have cared less.

When M. and I broke up, I was still very emotionally invested in his health and his life, but I knew any interactions with him encouraged him and that was not fair to either of us. I did not want to give him false hope that we would get back together. Neighbors would tell me they saw his truck on our street by my house, so I knew he was around, but it seemed harmless. Strangely enough, we didn’t run into each other anywhere, even though we lived only a couple miles apart. However, I was very aware of my surroundings, sort of knowing that us running into each other was inevitable and mostly dreading it.

It finally did happen last December. I was coming out of the gym and he was going in. As with most things, it was not as bad as I thought. We chatted for a little bit. In retrospect, I am grateful for this happening because he died less than two months later. It was the last time I ever saw him.

My gym was closed for a long time because of covid, and then because of flooding from a terrible storm. It just recently reopened and I finally started going back. It was weird because I felt like I kept looking at the door, thinking he was going to walk in. I feel like that happens a lot. I see someone who looks like him from behind walking or I see the same color truck as his and I have to remind myself that he is gone. I will never have to think about running into him again. How strange life is…one of the things I used to worry about is now something I wish could happen.

My boyfriend (also an M. name so I need to find an abbreviation for him….maybe Dr?) has an ex wife with whom he coparents, so she is very involved in his life. Luckily, she and I get along well, minimal problems and she is accepting of my relationship with the kids. But it is weird to me to be with someone who has baggage who is still present. Like they text about the kids and see each other multiple times a week. I can’t imagine what that is like because I have literally ZERO interaction with an ex at all.

It is like you are damned if you do and damned if you don’t. I never wanted to run into M. until he passed away and now I wish I could run into him, to see him one more time. As far as my ex husband, I hope he found a new food store really far away…preferably another state! 😉

There is always something to be thankful for

Dear M,

Happy Thanksgiving in heaven, love. I have been thinking about you SO much lately- more than usual. As you know, before you moved in with me, this time of year was always difficult. I had so many bad things happen in November- filing for divorce, my grandparents passing away, my dad having a stroke, my sister getting sick- I dreaded the month and Thanksgiving went from being one of my favorite holidays to just another day. Then, it became “our” holiday. Do you remember the first time we made a turkey? I can’t think about it without laughing. We must have watched 15 youtube videos and called my mom ten times! The best part was when I made the herb butter mix and you figured out how to get it under the skin. I was crying from laughing so hard. By the second year, we had a lot more confidence, but it was still a lot of work. After that, we were pros! And then, of course, there was the annual (and very epic) turkey leg photo. How that became a tradition, I have no idea, but those pictures are some of my favorite of you.

I know I am feeling nostalgic and not remembering everything. We definitely had some pretty bad arguments, my family always added a layer of stress, and I always worried if you were drinking before and during them being here. But I think for today, I just want to remember the good memories of all of our Thanksgivings together. It is still hard to believe that you are no longer here. After you got sick and we broke up, I made my sister start hosting Thanksgiving at her house. It was just too hard to do it without you and I was too sad. But there is a world of difference between us not being together and knowing you are with your family and I am with mine and you being gone.

It breaks my heart to know that you will never have another Thanksgiving. That there will never be another turkey leg photo to add to the collection. We aren’t having a traditional dinner this year, my sister wanted to do just appetizers and desserts (which would have been right up your alley) and I am secretly glad. I feel like I would have seen a turkey leg and cried. It is pretty weird and funny that something like a turkey leg can make me think of you.

I have so much to be thankful for this year (M, you should see our niece- she is amazing and you would love the baby!) Rather than being sad today, I am going to try to smile and think about you and the happy moments we shared together on this day.

Gone, but never forgotten

Dear M,

One of the things I have had a lot of difficulty with since you passed away is the fact you did not have an obituary. At the time, I think your parents were so overcome by grief and the logistics of dealing with your apartment that they just were not even able to think about that. I know you said you did not want a service, which I reiterated to your mother, but I never imagined that you would not have an obituary. I kept waiting and checking online to see if one was posted. It feels so unfair. You had so many accomplishments, so many people who cared about you and it feels like your family just wanted to keep your death so private…almost like they were ashamed of you. I have never been ashamed of you, my love. Meg passed away a couple of weeks ago. She suffered much the same way you did and her family wrote and printed an obituary. She deserved that. You deserved that.

Many people, including my sister and my therapist, have recommended that I write one for you. Not to publish or for anyone else to read, but just for myself…and for you. I have put it off because I thought it would be too hard, too sad, but in a weird way it wasn’t. I kind of enjoyed writing it because I am proud of how much you accomplished and it reminded me of so many of your wonderful qualities. Just because someone struggled with addiction and mental illness does not take away from all of their positive traits and doesn’t diminish their achievements. Those things ultimately did not define you. But these things did:

MCH (1983-2021)

            Son of C. and C. Brother to A. and her husband, D. “Funcle” to G. and J. Godfather to M.E.J. M. is survived by many cousins, friends, coworkers, and the A. family.

            Growing up in BT, M. attended MLHS and the U.D., receiving a B.A. in Sociology. He later attended W.U., receiving an MBA. After successfully becoming a PMP, M. landed his dream job with MLB., where he was able to travel to Europe several times.

            An avid Yankees fan, M. attended games regularly. He loved bowling (and once scored a 298!), scuba diving with his father, and listening to music.  M. could often be found sitting on his deck, smoking a cigar, and streaming a baseball game, while simultaneously blasting songs by The Rolling Stones or Biggie Smalls.  M. was famous for his extensive shoe, sneaker, and watch collections and loved showing them off with pictures on Instagram (#sofreshandsoclean).

            M. is predeceased by his grandparents and his beloved black Labrador retriever, J.  No doubt she was waiting to greet him, and they are now reunited, playing ball for hours, taking long hikes, going for rides in his truck, and swimming in a beautiful lake. M. loved dogs “more than most people” and volunteered with the SPCA. In lieu of flowers, please make donations in his name to that organization.

♥️

Lastly

Dear M,

I spend a lot of time thinking not only about all of the things you are going to miss out on in the future, but also about the “lasts” of things you did before you died. Many of them are unimportant, like what was the last thing you ate, what was the last song you heard, what was the last show you watched on TV, etc. Yet, others feel significant, like who was the last person you spoke with, what were the last words you said aloud, who was the last person you hugged…

I know that I was the last person you loved. I know that sounds assuming and kind of obnoxious. When we saw each other in December, I kept hoping you wouldn’t ask me if I was dating someone. I feel a sense of guilt for loving another man now. I think you and I both knew that we were never going to be together again, but I think there was a part of you that hoped for that. If not because of still loving me, at least knowing that being back together with me would have provided you with comfort and care and stability. I didn’t want to tell you that I had moved on because I was afraid it would create a downward spiral, that it might cause you to relapse in the event that you were maintaining sobriety. Even up until the end, I truly never wanted to hurt you.

But you hurt me. Sometimes I feel frustrated that I was never able to express anger towards you. When I found out about you being unfaithful and hiding how much you were drinking, I couldn’t be mad at you because you were in a coma. When we broke up afterwards, I didn’t want to show anger towards you because I wanted to be supportive of you trying to get sober and you were still so sick.

Even now, I don’t feel a lot of anger towards you. I feel angry that you are gone, but not directed at you. But I also feel guilty that I have moved on. It is really hard to mourn you and love someone else. I feel like my heart is split, like I can’t devote it fully either way. I am happy now with him and I hope that you would want that for me. I can hear your voice saying, “fuck that guy” (lol), but I think deep down you knew you could not give me what I needed or deserved.

He was with me when I found out you were gone and has been unwavering in his support ever since. He lets me cry, gives me space when I need it, listens to me talk about you. I can’t imagine how hard it is for him, but he is so patient and kind.

I feel guilty that I was the last person you loved, but I love someone else. I did love you- I truly did and I tried SO hard. I learned the hard way that it is just impossible to love someone who does not love themselves. It makes me sound conceited to say that, but I know it is true and I am grateful that you knew what it felt like to be truly loved, even if you couldn’t always accept it. You told me many times that no one ever really cared for you the way I did. I am glad I was able to give you that gift, that I was able to love you when you felt unworthy and you couldn’t love yourself.

Memories: Part 1

Dear M,

All throughout the day, I think about how I want to write to or about you. It is just so, so difficult to actually DO it. I have so much I want to tell you or things I want to write about you- about us- but now that I am sitting here, I have writer’s block. I think it also makes it real. If I am writing about you being gone…that means you are gone. How is that possible? It has only been two months since you passed away and I can already feel vivid memories of you fading away. I want to remember everything about you. It feels like the harder I try to recall certain things, the harder it is, almost like they just have to come to me organically. So many things remind me of you.

It’s crazy because I think throughout the day how I want to talk to you, but even if you were alive, we were not communicating like that. I see something funny or a meme or a news story and my gut reaction is to text you. Then I remember.

Baseball season is starting. I think a lot about all the things you won’t ever do again- like watch another opening pitch or take your nephew to his first Yankees game and buy him a hot dog and souvenir. Obviously anything related to baseball or MLB reminds me of you. I remember when we went to the new Yankee stadium for the tour. It was such a beautiful day and I have those photos of you and us in the dugout. When you got your new job, I remember decorating the house with baseball balloons and cupcakes and plates and decorations and big league chew packets. The people at the party store probably thought I was having a party for a seven year old 🙂 Even though going to games at the stadium were fun, my favorite memories were us on the deck. You would bring your computer out and stream the game. The dog (and sometimes the cat) would sleep at our feet in the sun. Sometimes you would grill and when it got dark out, we would turn on the strands of lights and burn citronella candles. I remember us hanging those lights- it is such a funny memory. We spent an hour positioning them around the deck, stapling them so carefully to the posts. When I flicked them on for the first time, it was beautiful. Then you went to adjust one and got shocked and the whole strand blew out. You were so angry and frustrated, but we both managed to laugh about it. Then we tried again, but used clips instead and they are all still hanging to this day. The little black mark is still on the vinyl of the house from where the bulb exploded.

Last night, I was reading old emails between us before I fell asleep. I haven’t been able to do that- or to look at letters or cards or anything like that, so it felt like a step. It was so bittersweet to see the evolution of our relationship, from hooking up to starting to care about each other, to becoming “official”, to the struggles of being long distance, to you moving in with me, etc. Many of them were mundane, everyday, silly conversations, but a lot of them were about feelings (or “feeeelings” as you would sarcastically say lol).

One of the first serious emails was from November of 2011 and in it I wrote to you: “I know you think this world wouldn’t really be drastically different without you in it…but please know that MY life would be missing something if I didn’t have you.”

Several people have said to me that I had to have seen your death coming. I didn’t. I really, honestly didn’t. I’m so angry that in some ways if does seem like the world is not drastically different without you in it. I want to yell from mountaintops and tell random strangers that you are gone and about your life. He existed! I know there was nothing on social media, I know there was not an obituary, but he died!

But, my love, the other thing I wrote is undisputedly true- MY world is missing something without you in it. It is forever changed and will never be the same. I will never be the same. And I promise to try to hold on to every single memory that I can.

…as we sailed into the mystic

My love, this is it. The blog I never wanted to write. I have put it off so many times, dreading having to do it, making it real. You’re gone. I can’t bring myself to even say the word “dead” out loud. Not about you. It has been six weeks now. How is that even possible? How is any of this possible?

The moment I saw your mother’s email, I knew. I feel like I shook my head for hours, for days. No. No. No. It can’t be real. I just wanted to deny it. If I didn’t accept it, it couldn’t be true. After everything you (we) went through, how could this be? It was the week before your 38th birthday.

I have struggled with the end. How long were you alone? Did you suffer? Feel pain? Know it was coming? Were you drunk? Were you going through withdrawal? WHAT HAPPENED? I’m grateful suicide was ruled out almost immediately. I wouldn’t have believed that anyway. I feel actual pain in my chest when I think about you lying there on the floor. I drove by your apartment that Friday night. Were you alive then? I have tortured myself about that. I know there was nothing I could have done to save you or stop it, but why was I so compelled to drive there that night? That can’t just be a coincidence, can it. I cry every single time I think of you being alone. No one should be alone at the end of their life. You didn’t deserve that.

I don’t know how to accept that I will never hear your voice or see your face again. How ironic that only months ago, I dreaded running into you around town. But then I saw you in December and we talked and it was just…nice. It was familiar. You were not 100% yourself, I could tell that, but you seemed okay. You were supposed to be okay. After being so sick for so long, that was supposed to be the ending. You were supposed to get sober and be healthy and okay. And now you are gone.

I am so angry with your family. But then I think about what they have lost and my heart aches for them. You told me so many times you didn’t want a memorial. But they didn’t even do an obituary. It is like they came up here, cleaned out your apartment, took your truck, and poof- you didn’t exist anymore. Nothing was allowed on social media, people wrote happy birthday messages to you days later and didn’t even know you weren’t alive to read them. “Hope you had an amazing day!!” My heart hurts. I am in so much pain. Everyone kept saying to me, “you did everything you could for him. You saved his life many times. You shouldn’t feel guilty. There’s nothing you could have done.” I know that, but I also don’t know that.

We were together for nine years. So many good times. So many difficult times. I loved you. I know you loved me. I picture your hands. All the times over nine years that they grabbed my butt. That they held our niece. That they pet our dog. That they played with the cat. That they flipped burgers on the grill. That they poured another drink. That I held so tightly while you were on life support in the hospital in a coma. What was the point of all of that? I still suffer from going through you being sick…and for what? You just being gone less than two years later? How can that be?

I know you suffered, my love. I know the depression was so dark and deep inside of you that you couldn’t see the light on many days. I know you didn’t want to drink, even as you fell further into the addiction. I know you wanted to be better- for yourself, for me.

I have one of your last voicemails saved on my phone. It was from after you got out of the hospital. You apologized over and over and said, “someday I’m going to send you a letter making amends.” I believed that. I wanted to forgive you, for both of us. Now I will never get that letter. So much is left unsaid between us.

I still just can’t believe you are gone. I read article after article about the stages of grief. I desperately search for anything I can interpret as a sign from you. I feel so alone. I cried nonstop the whole first week and every day since. The sadness is physical. I forget for a bit and then remember you are gone and it is like a pain in my chest. I sleep all the time. I feel numb and then I feel guilty for feeling numb. I’m angry at everyone for the littlest things. I just don’t know what to do.

Sometimes I feel like I don’t have the right to feel all of this. I let you go. I saved myself. Maybe I could have done more? How was I supposed to know this would happen, though? You were supposed to get better. Friends and my therapist “weren’t surprised” that you passed away. “You had to have known this was going to happen.” No. No, I didn’t. I really, truly didn’t. You were so strong, you survived so much. People like my dad have lived for decades with alcoholism. 37. You helped throw me the most amazing 40th birthday party and you will never turn 40. Or 39. Or even 38. How is that possible?

I’m so sorry, my love. I always cared, I never stopped. In my heart, I truly believe you knew that. I just could not watch you self-destruct anymore. There’s so many things I want to talk to you about, to tell you, and now I will never have the chance.

I thought there would be more time.

My exboyfriend smells…

I emptied my bathroom garbage today and I found my boyfriend’s empty deodorant stick. I plucked it out of the can, uncapped it and took a sniff (this sounds really disturbing, just stay with me…). It really didn’t have a strong scent. It was just clean and fresh and simple and subtle.

My exboyfriend was full of smells. When we lived together and he would shower, my entire house smelled strongly like his body wash. I have 100 scented shower products in the shower and yet, that never happens. He would purchase and wear expensive colognes and reapply them during the day. Sitting next to him, I could always smell him and most of the time, his scent was heady and a combination of cool, musky and very masculine notes.

The scent that dominated his body was always his deodorant. I LOVED it. I can’t even describe it…it just smelled like him. I would cuddle up on his lap and just inhale. He knew how much I was attracted to it and although he would try out new colognes and beard oils and soaps, he always bought the same deodorant.

When he was hospitalized for a month in a coma, I slept every night with a stick of his deodorant uncapped on his pillow next to me. During the night, half-asleep, I would scoot over just so my face was closer to it. It brought such an overwhelming burst of feelings- comfort and love and familiarity, but also loneliness and fear and loss.

I must have known back then and I certainly do now, that much like a stealthy smoker, he used all of those strong scents to cover up the smell of alcohol. Because even though the cologne and soap and deodorant were applied, inevitably I could smell the faint, sharp, bitter scent of vodka that would permeate from his pores when he walked by me.

My new boyfriend is very low maintenance. He does very well financially, yet is content to buy whatever body wash is on sale at the store. The first time I showered at his house, I jokingly made fun of him for his single bottle of V05 Strawberries and Cream shampoo. He rarely wears cologne. He doesn’t have a scent that I can put my finger on or describe. He obviously doesn’t smell bad in any way- he just doesn’t smell like anything really.

But I held that empty deodorant just now and it seemed like a metaphor for my life. The guy who wore all the strong, sexy, artificially created scents…he was not true to me. He was always covering things up and lying. He pretended to be something he was not for a very long time.

But my new boyfriend…what you see is what you get. He doesn’t feel the need to be anything other than who he is. He is authentic, honest, and true. There is nothing he needs to cover up or to hide. He also just smells like himself…and occasionally like strawberry shampoo 🍓♥️

The tooth (and truth) hurts

My father has been having some dental issues lately and had to have a tooth pulled. We were talking about it the last time I saw him and I was empathizing with him, as I have had dental woes of my own. He then casually asked me if I had my wisdom teeth removed. I told him that I did have all four removed when I was a teenager, to which he responded, “I don’t remember that at all.” I was SHOCKED because although I do jot remember a lot from my childhood, it is one of my most vivid memories.

Let me take you back and set the scene…I was probably around 16 and it was over the summer. My dentist recommended I get all four wisdom teeth removed, as they were all impacted. When an oral surgeon performs that surgery, you have to be put under anesthesia. I was very nervous. I had never had any kind of surgery or anesthesia before. I don’t remember anything from the actual surgery (although my mom tells a funny story about how in a panic I thought the surgeon removed my tongue when I woke up and kept touching it to see if it was still there).

What I do remember was how uncomfortable I was afterwards. I had stitches in four parts of my mouth, which was also packed with cotton. I had to take both antibiotics and codeine. When I got home, all I wanted to do was go to bed. My father, however, had different plans. He was incredibly drunk and a few hours later he began arguing with my mother. He told her, my sister, and me that we had to leave the house and forced us out of the front door, along with our dog. At that point the combination of anesthesia, painkillers and anxiety kicked in and I spent the next half hour vomiting into our front bushes. In case you ever wondered (although I doubt you have), throwing up with a mouth full of bloody cotton is absolutely disgusting.

Eventually, he must have allowed us to come back into the house, because I don’t really remember much else from that day or night. The bushes part is my most vivid memory.

Back to present day…I spent the whole rest of the night thinking about what my father said. I truly do believe that he honestly did not remember that night. It made me wonder how many other incidents that I remember, many of which scarred my childhood, he simply does not even remember.

For the past 30 years, there’s only been two times when my father was sober. One time was after he had a stroke and did not drink from October of 2013 to October of 2015 and the other time has been since December of 2019. During the first span, I remember having a conversation with him and mentioning a few of the things that he had done while he was drunk. It was clear that he was appalled and did not even believe that he was capable of doing those things. And I really didn’t even tell him any of the truly terrible things he did.

The immature part of me wants to stomp my foot and say that it’s not fair. If I have to live with all of these bad memories, he should be riddled with guilt and tormented by them also. Another part of me feels slightly comforted by the fact that because he does not remember doing these things, it was not really my dad doing them, rather it was this drunk monster that took over his body.

My mouth has long since healed and the memory of that experience has faded. Although I have to admit it did hurt a little to have him admit that he didn’t remember that day- added a little insult to injury.