My name is Cher and my husband is an alcoholic.
Four years ago, with those words, I started this blog. And with those words, I am putting it to rest.
What was meant to be chapters of a story with a happy ending became a series of interchangeable essays of relapse, action, hope, and disbelief. With each post, I held open the door for the next, expecting that my good manners and optimism would be rewarded with a change of course toward recovery.
Instead, we landed on a track with hurdles that we didn’t anticipate, the highest being our separation and his advanced liver disease. Others, like the daily consequences of continued drinking, we cleared regularly. Not out of ease but out of practice. Still others remain stacked in an unused lane, sized up with deference to their seriousness; their finality.
The biggest hurdle, now, though, is guilt. Mine for leaving and his for letting me.
The other night in a phone call, we talked about what’s next. Alcoholism won, I told him. Even with knowing that nine times out of ten it does, I held on believing that we would be the exception. Unable to make it come true, we concede.
My name is Cher and my husband is an alcoholic. This was our story.
Heaven, help me now. Heaven, show the way. ~ The Lumineers