Dedicated to T, J, B, C, and L. xo

Last night I went to a local restaurant with some friends. We were shown to our table, next to a large party of fourteen or more. I recognized the group and hurried to greet my surprised old friends. Well, they’re not old, the relationship is.

We’ve known one another for years; our children grew up together. In fact, two of our three kiddos were born within a month or so in the same years. We both were stay-at-home moms, sometimes struggling to make all the ends meet, and raising our families.

We were friends when the days were long, and the years short.

After appropriate hugs all around, I returned to my table. As I sat, perusing the menu, I had full view of my friend’s table. And I watched this couple, who were married the same year as me and my ex-husband. Their laughs sounded the same, and I still recognized their shared ‘knowing’ glances passing in between.

Our children have grown up! Their middle son looked like a man – with a full beard! When did that happen? Could this really be that chubby, chatty, little guy I used to know? Where does the time go?

My friends were aging. Like me. And fairly well I’d say, about us all.  We have some gray hair, and carry our weight in different places, but we look pretty good for our ages. And in the face, we look just the same. The eyes reveal the familiar souls within. It was nice to see them as a family.

A family. I had one of those once.

“Poor, poor pitiful me, poor poor pitiful me.” (Linda Ronstadt)

My pleasant reminiscences quickly turned sour with regret, and I started feeling sad and left out. Then I started feeling sorry for myself. I could hear my sister’s words in my ear, taunting me, “Poor pitiful me, poor pitiful Lisa, stop feeling sorry for yourself.” But she’s not here, so I will feel sorry for myself. I have something to feel sorry for; something to mourn and grieve.

Fortunately, it’s not every day, but it is some days, and this is one of those days.

I used to have that very life I’m seeing here in front of me. I lived it when I was growing up, then I planned it for myself. I fell in love, got married, and started a family. A family just like this one here.

Not a perfect family by any stretch, but a solid family. A stable and sturdy family that nurtured, laughed, fought, protected, and loved. And I was a founding member.

A family; I had one of those once.

I started reminiscing. How many restaurants, just like this one, had we sat in together with our children at various ages from infant, to elementary school age, to high school?

How many conversations about the challenges, events, frustration, and joyful moments of raising children had we had over the years past? Many.

How many celebrations, milestones, and anniversaries had we honored together?

How many dreams had we confided on the golf course and in the kitchen? Many.

What happened to my family?

Alcohol.

Alcohol happened. I became an alcoholic. I chose it over this, and now I live with that decision; if you can call it that. This is one of those times when I hate alcohol, because if I don’t hate it, I have to hate myself. And I’ve done that enough. Doesn’t bring back the past.

Addiction demands to be served; just as “pain demands to be felt”*

I finished out dinner with as much gusto as I could muster, said my goodbyes, and started walking home. I was grateful for the setting sun, because a block down the sidewalk, they started. The tears. Streaming. Unabashedly making tracks down my cheeks. I let them. What else can I do?

“How do you handle the regret?”, someone asked me one time. I thought about it and went within. And there it was. It’s still there, and sometimes, like right now, it handles me.

“The Eye” (Brandi Carlile)

As I passed by a restaurant, I heard one of my favorite songs playing. I stopped at the corner to listen to a few lines. “It really breaks my heart to see a dear old friend, go down to that worn out place again.” . . . “And did you think the bottle would ever ease your pain?” . . . “Did you find someone else to take the blame?” . . . “Do you know the sound of a closing door? Have you heard that sound somewhere before?”

How do they do that? Singers, song writers — they know life. They feel it, and they describe it so well, don’t they? Then they put a lovely melody to your life that gets stuck in your head. This song writer, was spot on for me. And yes, I have found something to blame, and as you know; I blame alcohol.

But finally in this song, Brandi Carlile reminds me, “I am a sturdy soul, and there ain’t no shame in lying down in the bed you made.” But there is sorrow in lying down in my bed at times, and that’s just the way it is, no matter who made the damn thing.

It wasn’t the only reason we divorced, but it was huge, as I’m sure you could imagine. Twenty plus years of alcoholic drama and bullshit. You can’t always recover from that, even if you can recover from drinking.

“Envy, after all, comes from wanting something that isn’t yours. But grief comes from losing something you’ve already had.” **

And as far as my friends go, it’s not like I think they’re perfect or don’t struggle. I knew their struggles — intimately once upon a time, and I know they still have them. In fact, they have real life and death struggles. But they weathered the storms, and stayed with it. And I’m glad they did.

I really am so happy for them, sincerely, I am. Because, think about it — when you’re envious, you don’t want others NOT to have; you just want to have too. Right along with ’em; that’s where I should be. But I’m not, and I blame alcohol.

That could have still been me right now. I could still be a part of an intact, stable, committed “little unit”, as my ex-husband, ex-soldier used to call our family. But the deception and manipulation that alcohol caused in me stole it away. Bottle by bottle.

If only I had the knowledge then, that I have now.

By the time I arrived home last night, I was angry at myself, my genes, my weakness, and my inability to understand or change before it was too late. I should have tried harder. I should have been more focused and diligent. I should have found other treatments, paid whatever price, and by whatever means necessary, as they say.

I deserve that simple mundane life with the three bratty (at times) kids, the dog and cat that acts like a dog, and the average, three-bedroom house; with the bills, the headaches, and the in-laws. Because they were my tribe, and I miss it. All of it, that’s what I miss right now. (Well, maybe not the in-laws, really.)

It should still be us together with no alcohol to tear asunder. But it didn’t happen that way.

What happened and why it’s important to you.

It happened this way. We divorced. And we created a monstrous crevice in the collective trajectory of five people, bound at one time by love, commitment, and the same last name.

I remained drunk for a few more years, until I wasn’t anymore; and they watched, waited, gave up, went on without me, then came back again.

Now I’m sober. And yes, sometimes, better than sober. But today? Not so much. There are days like these now too, in sobriety. It is the way of it.

I have a good relationship with my ex-husband and my children. They are adults now and adjusting fine. People are resilient, man! We are all so damned resilient. We have to be. But sometimes, it’s tough, I’m gonna be honest; it is hard to be human.

Change it while you still can.

This is why you can’t give up. If you’re drinking, and you hate it or you hate yourself, I get it. You think I didn’t hate myself? You think I still don’t morn my loss because I’m sober now, and can write these eloquent words about sobriety? You think I don’t have some miserably bleak memories, regret, and shame for my choices? Now you know the truth.

*”pain demands to be felt” is from The Fault in Our Stars, by John Green, 2012; ** “Envy, after all, comes from wanting something that isn’t yours. But grief comes from losing something you’ve already had.” is from Perfect Match, by Jodi Picoult, 2002.