Sunday, September 27, 2015

day of reckoning

The world came to a screeching halt.
 
Not for me and any readers obviously, but for my brother, who finally paid the ultimate price for his long love affair with alcohol.  Richard was found dead Thursday morning (9/24).  It appears that he’d had a seizure and asphyxiated.  So it goes.  We all knew the day was coming, and my other brother (Mike) and I marveled every time we got together that Richard was still alive.  We expected him to last no longer than a year once we moved him into his house.  In fact, he survived nearly three years. 

Mike and I use to joke that we would put his ashes into an empty vodka bottle for burial.  Now that the end has come, it’s not so funny to think about that.  The memory of seeing my brother tip the vodka bottle and chug on it like he was drinking milk from a carton is something I can never forget.  For the past year, his alcoholism became too difficult to manage.  Drinking made him sick, but not drinking made him sicker.  He withered away to a rack of bones, and this under-60 year old man walked and moved slower than my grandfather when he was 93.       

I had to make phone calls to our parents to tell them the news.  Nobody was surprised.  Now I must write an obituary for him and plan a memorial service.  Mike and I began cleaning out his house yesterday.  We learned a lot about our brother in this unhappy process.  Fortunately, it was all good things about him – things I wished I’d known before he died.

Richard never made the connection that he couldn’t keep a job or a girlfriend because of his drug and alcohol problems.  He didn’t seem to comprehend that his health was affected by drinking so much.  He refused to believe that his “friends” were taking advantage of him.  That’s how denial works.  Rehab was never an option.  At one point about a year ago, after a very close-encounter with death and a long hospital stay, he told me he was finished drinking.  We talked about AA and what changes he was willing to make to stay sober.  He assured me that he would attend AA meetings and never drink before 3PM, and only beer, no more vodka.  As I was leaving the hospital, I said good-bye to my brother in all the ways a person can say good-bye.  I never saw him that sober again.


In the words of Cat Stevens, we’re all “only dancing on this earth for a short while.”  Richard was ready to sit down.  I wish we could have changed the music and had one more dance. 

in better days
    

2 comments:

Mrs Twaddle said...

That is a beautiful photo. Frozen in time youthfulness. Looks like Cat Stevens should be playing in the background.

I am very sorry for your loss. Even though you expected it, I imagine it does not really make it easier. No matter his excesses and self inflicted demise, at the end of the day he was your brother and I guess there would have been some good memories and affection in there still. As you know, we have a similar (though perhaps not yet so hopeless) situation with K's sister. Despite all the crap she puts K though, he still feels the sibling bond, it is all very conflicting. She puts all her life issues onto her type one diabetes. Certainly not her drinking or smoking.

Addictiion is not nice. It ruins peoples lives when they choose to continue to make crazy choices that make it worse. I am sure that people are wired in such a way that some can navigate through through life and all its difficulties with success and others just fail time and time again.

At least you know that he is really at peace and not feeling that insaitable thirst that drove him time and time again to the drink.

Linda x

KYLady said...

Linda,

Thank you for your kind and thoughtful comments. My brothers and I are very close in age. Given our circumstances growing up, we had few other playmates besides each other. I very much miss the person he used to be. My heart goes out to you and your husband. Watching somebody you care about circle the drain is very hard. In the case of my brother, I don’t think his addiction was a choice as much as it was a complete inability to imagine any other life for himself.