No More Lies

Sunday morning my uncle picked me up so that we could drive up to see my grandmother, who is in the hospital. She may never leave it, so it's important that we see her.
My uncle and I used to be fairly close, but that has changed in the nearly two years since I quit drinking. My sobriety has become a wedge between us. His drinking is not the problem- it's my sobriety that's the issue. I come from a family of alcoholics and my sobriety makes the drunks feel uncomfortable.
When he arrives, there are two plastic cups in the cupholders, both full of beer.

"Here", he says," I have one for you."

"Eddie", I reply, "I have quit drinking. It's been almost two years. I almost died."

"Oh. I thought you were just saying that. I didn't think it was true."

Eddie, who arrived at 11 am with Big Gulps of beer, has obviously not given up the booze. As I was clearing the pile of newspapers and trash out of his passenger seat- which hadn't seen a passenger in a very long time- I nearly gagged on the ripe brewery smell coming from him.
I used to drink in the morning too, and I know that if you are having beer for breakfast, it's because you have had beer for dinner and dessert the previous night. Hair of the dog, ya know?
I also know that by the time beer starts sweating out of your pores, you are drunk and have been drunk for a long, long time.

"Ed, why don't you let me drive?"
I have been awake for two days but at least I'm sober.

"I never get drunk. I don't let myself get sloppy." Uh- huh.

I wanted to tell him that I spent five minutes cleaning trash out of his car just so I could squeeze into the side door, and that driving around in a huge pile of stinking garbage is something that many people would consider "sloppy."
I don't say that, though.
He is a drunk and he actually believes his own drunken lies, so arguing is useless.

Instead, we talk about his mother. Eddie is the closest thing to a 'functioning' adult child that my grandma has- I am relieved to hear that she has removed my father as executor of her will and named Eddie. I'm not so happy to learn that Eddie has signed the duties over to his wife, who also drinks for breakfast. She's not with us on this trip- she had 'things' to do- so I can't ask her any questions.
At this point, we aren't sure if there is money for a nursing home even if Grandma survives the next few days. I'm really worried. If she dies...well, that's one thing...if she lives, there may not be anywhere for her to go.

It's not until we reach the interstate that I get concerned for my own safety. Ed keeps his car in the right-hand lane so that when he swerves- which is every few minutes- the car rolls over the 'rumble strips' on the shoulder and not into traffic. I have survived two interstate accidents and I doubt I have enough remaining luck to survive a third, so I start getting a wee bit vocal.

"Eddie, pull off at the next exit and give me your keys."

"But I'm not drunk. I never get drunk."

"Ed, you are drunk right now. You can't keep your car in the lane and we are going to die if you wreck."

"I can't drive because you are talking to me. I can't stand lectures from reformed alcoholics. You people are worse than ex-smokers."

I think that I have given ONE lecture about alcohol in my entire life. It was addressed to my father and it was made in the course of an improvised intervention by me , at my grandmother's request. It sucked the life out of me and accomplished nothing.
It didn't do Dad any good at all, he cleaned up for a couple months and then went right back to the bottle, the filth and the lies.
I know lectures don't work. It's why I don't give them.
But Eddie is hearing lectures from somebody...his alcoholic defensiveness is in high gear.

Halfway there, he runs out of beer and he has to find a gas station where he can buy more. We stop at a 7-11 and he buys a 40 oz bottle of Miller.
I buy a sandwich and a coffee.
We argue about his driving. He gives me two choices: I can walk home or I can shut up and be a passenger. He can drive, he tells me. I give up. There's no point in arguing with a drunk.
Oh, right. Excuse me.
Eddie isn't drunk. He never gets drunk.
Drunks never lie and they never make mistakes. If he can't drive, it's my fault for talking to him.

We finally make it to the hospital and when he exits the car, it looks like Eddie has pissed in his khakis. There's a huge wet stain covering his crotch, ass and legs down to the knees.

"Did you piss yourself?"
Drunks never lie, make mistakes or piss themselves.

"No, I spilled a beer on my lap."
I don't let myself get sloppy.

As we walk the hospital's corridors, looking for room #209, I can smell the beer on him. He's been sitting in a puddle of beer for an hour and he smells awful. People pass in the hallway and wrinkle their noses at us.
Another great moment of family pride.

It's Sunday and there are a few ladies from Church visiting Grandma when we arrive. They look like they've been crying. There's a grey lump on the bed. A handwritten sign identifies the lump as my grandma...tubes are everywhere...the lump moves as we enter, tries to raise a hand, but the tubes are in the way.

Hello. We are here.
I kiss her cheek. Her skin feels like tissue paper, but she wakes up and recognizes me. All I can do is rest my hand on hers, let her know that I am there.

The tiny room fills with the mingled smell of death and stale beer. I will always associate those two smells with each other. Dying and drinking smell the same to me. They are the same to me.

The church ladies are murmuring:
"...her sons both drink, you know..."
"...poor thing, having family like that..."
"...don't they have any shame?..."

One of the ladies starts filling me in- last night, Grandma's heart stopped and they thought she was going to die, her abdomen is full of liquid and it's suffocating her heart and lungs. The drainage is not going as well as hoped and surgery is almost impossible, given her frail health.

None of this is new. My Grandma has been pronounced dead quite a few times over the last 15 years , so I'm trying to stay calm, keep cool. The lady who's giving me the information is not doing so well, though. She breaks into tears halfway through her recital.

I don't even know her name, but she loves my grandmother and that's good enough for me. I want to listen. I need to talk to an adult who cares and who knows my Grandma .
I am very lucky that this woman is here.

We step out into the hall so she can tell me more. She wants to tell me about my father. The police have gotten so tired of responding to my GM's requests to check-up on his whereabouts that they have stopped doing it. I had suspected this was the case, now I know.
One of the officers is a family friend and it was his new wife (whom I have never even met) who finally responded to one of the calls that her husband had been ignoring. She found my dad , he was passed out on the floor of his rental cottage, just where he always is. He's alive but couldn't be bothered to visit his mom. He said he'd be around in a few days- he's at the stage where it takes days to sober up enough just to be 'presentable'.

I tell the lady that I don't want him around, that he will just make it worse. She agrees and starts crying. There is so much compassion in her -where is it coming from?... she tells me about her daughter, her son and their drinking. They drank themselves to death, six months apart.
She has outlived her children. Twice in one year.
Her family is full of drunks who ruin everything...she knows what they do, how they poison the world of the living and now she has to see it happen all over again with my family. Her heart is still broken and it will probably never mend.

Uncle's showing up at the hospital drunk and dripping beer is not helping anything. This might be the last time that he sees his mother and he won't even remember it.

But I will. I will never forget any of this.

The woman asks me who is driving. I have already decided that I will take my uncle's keys away from him if even if I have to beat him, so I'm being quite honest when I tell her that I am driving us both home.

"Good. Your uncle has no business visiting his mother when he has been drinking. We can all tell that he is drunk. Your grandmother has told us the whole story. We have been praying that you don't drink."

That's something she needn't worry about, but I am glad to know that the family 'secret' is out of the bag and that there is at least one person who understands. Alcohol took this woman's children away...no wonder she can't stand to watch my grandma's sons destroy themselves.

"Allan, you are going to have to be the strong one. There is no one else. Your brother is too far away and your dad isn't any use."

Yeah, I know that. It's been tormenting me for a long time. I don't tell her that, though.
Instead, we hug and cry. I don't even know who the tears are for- there are so many people to cry for.

After a minute, we return to the room. My uncle is gone. He has left without saying a word.
I'm certain he's sitting in his car, drinking beer out of a soda cup.
His beer-smell was upsetting my grandma- she has oxygen tubes in her nose, but she can still smell the beer. She's as angry as the morphine will allow.
Her son has driven 150 miles just so he can sit in the parking lot and drink furtively while his mother lies dying, 50 yards away.
Another proud family moment.

For a short period, I am left alone with my grandmother and she manages to ask me if I am OK. She tells me some things, some things that I knew already, but I need to hear them from her own lips before I can accept them as true.
Now I can do that.
She's on life-support and she wants to know if I am OK. She is making sure I know these things, because it might be the last time we speak. There might not be another chance for her to tell me these things.
She wants me to be alright but I don't feel like I will ever be alright again.
I am not OK, but I lie to my grandmother and tell her that I am alright.
I tell her that I am OK.
I decide that this is the last time that I will tell a lie to my grandmother.
I make her a promise that I hope I can keep.

I will never forget any of this.

Pastor Bob arrives after services. His is the voice of reason. He's been a good friend to my small family and he's never sugar-coated his words. If he tells me it is serious, it is serious.

"It's very serious", he says.

He tells me the truth about how things have been for my grandma and for my father. It's exactly as I feared, only worse. My grandma can't help herself- it's against her instincts to tell us the whole truth.
She is a protector who can no longer protect anyone.
All the secrets are out.
There are no children to defend, we are all adults now and at least one of us has to act like we are grown-up.

"Allan, you are going to have to keep yourself together. I am praying for you. Call me anytime. Anytime at all."

I have done nothing to deserve this man's concern, yet he is extending himself to me. The world is full of strangers and near-strangers who are praying for me, who are willing to answer the phone if I need to call...this is too much. I am not worth this.
More tears come. Pastor thinks I am crying because of Grandma, but I'm not. I am crying for myself and my family. I'm crying for the woman who's children killed themselves with drink. I am crying because of what my grandma has been through, but not because she will be gone soon. I am crying because my grandpa never lived to see me sober. I have a long, long list of reasons to cry.
I am weeping now because I am ashamed of my family and I know it's going to get much worse very soon and when it does, I am very likely to find myself alone in whatever struggles arise.

Except I won't be alone.

There are people that love my grandmother so much that they will be there for me when she is gone. I don't deserve that kindness, but I need it. I can't turn my back on that.
I do not deserve any of this love, but it is there and I can't help but cry because it's overwhelming to be this human.
Oh, how easy it is to drink, I think, if I was drunk, I wouldn't be so sad. I'd make other people sad, but drunks do not care about other people, so it wouldn't bother me a bit. It would all be someone else's fault.

I tell Pastor what my grandma told me. He said that she had talked to him about it and that he agrees. I don't need to punish myself for this, he reminds me. It is not my fault. Pastor doesn't tell lies, so I know that he's right. I already knew that, but again, it's something I needed to hear. He knew that, that is why he told me.

I tell Pastor about the promise that I have made.
He tells me never to forget those words.

I won't. I thought about it while I was driving my sleeping uncle's car home.

I will never forget any of this.