Strength of self

If my life were to flash before my eyes today, it would include a series of stills from my marriage to an alcoholic.  The moment when I sat at the airport because he overslept following an all-night bender, alone in our apartment taking in as much as he could before I returned home.  The morning following a friend’s wedding when he told me he was done drinking.  The moment one month later when I found the first hidden drink high up in a cupboard, blocking the cookie cutters I needed for Christmas baking.

The moment years later when our young son asked him about the bottles hidden in the basement – his distillery – after finding them with his friends one day.   Our daughter’s high school graduation, where I sat alone because he was so drunk he chose instead to sit high up near the rafters on the other side of the gym.

That moment long ago when I asked him why and wondered aloud if it was because of me.

These stills are the picture – for better or for worse – of our life together.  What has emerged recently, though, is a hero.  For years, I waited for someone to sweep in and make this all go away.  To answer the questions I could not, and bring solutions to the problems I couldn’t solve.  I needed a hero.  So that is what I became.

 

 

 

 

 

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