Once upon a time long, long ago before cell phones and texts, even before email, I heard a knock at my backdoor. Through the glass panes, I saw Sally’s mascara-tear-streaked face. Quickly, I opened the door to her. She almost collapsed into my waiting hug. Her tears and her embracing a hug announced the seriousness of the situation.
Sally sobbed, “I need to tell you a secret and I need you to promise that you will not tell anyone ever.”
“I promise,” I vowed at once.
She sat at the kitchen table and alternately sobbed and gathered herself while I made coffee. Coffee made and served, I sat down, too, and listened. The story that unfolded was that her partner with whom she shared three children had lost control of his alcohol consumption. He’d always had a scotch between work and supper. Now, he had that scotch and another and one more and then just a couple of sips from the fourth glass.
“He’s not an angry drunk. To the contrary. He’s silly and laughs. The girls think he’s so much fun, really great. I know, though, that he’s not really there. His drinking has accelerated over the last couple of years. Lingering badgering from his first wife who is now remarried. Increasing blame toward him for the aimlessness of their daughter. His ex-wife has had custody and barely let him be in their daughter’s life and now it’s his fault she’s a mess?!?! Now, there’s growing tension at his law practice. There’s a shift in culture from the original ‘we will provide the best legal services in the city, and we’ll make a great living doing it’ to the now standard perspective of ‘we are going to make great incomes, and we’ll do it by providing legal services.’ He is so good-hearted, so genuinely loving that this cultural topsy-turvy is making him a little crazy. I’ve said maybe he could leave the firm and go with another practice, or he could go for teaching which was really his first love.”
Her mind and feelings wandered off somewhere. After a few minutes, I asked, “And?”
Sally brought herself back. “He says he’s too far in to change firms and that basically all the folks he started with are keeping to the original standards.”
Sally gets herself refocused on the situation at hand. “I don’t care whatever about the firm and the income and the status. What I care about is living with the man I married and raising the children we’ve made. What I cannot do is stay with someone who is awash with alcohol every night and who will eventually, if we keep on this trajectory, choose scotch over his children and me.”
Now, she was totally bold and self-contained. “I told him last night either he quits scotch, or I quit him.” Then, part of herself collapsed into this pivotal moment, she sobbed and gasped the final question, “What if he chooses scotch?”
I let her breathe a minute and answered, “If he does, you’ll manage. You and the girls will manage, survive, and thrive. You will. It’s what you do. Honestly, though, I cannot imagine that – whatever the hurdles and hardships he’s facing are – that he would choose any life other than the one he’s building with through living with you and the girls.”
And he did say “farewell” to scotch and all of scotch’s brothers and sisters and cousins. He did hold fast and tenderly to Sally and the girls. He helped his first daughter as much as he could with educational and employment opportunities. He did all that he could to try to keep the “service first, income second” culture as long as he could.
Sally entrusted me with her plight, her story, her secret. I promised. I have kept that promise for more than 40 years. This is my first telling of Sally’s story. I have changed the names as well lots of details to protect my friend of so many decades.
[To be honest, I started to go with a Roseanne Roseannadanna play on words - entrusted with encrusted like “pecan encrusted baked chicken breast” with the classic “nevermind.” I hope a couple of you, at least, remember and laugh.]
— Marmar
Sally sobbed, “I need to tell you a secret and I need you to promise that you will not tell anyone ever.”
“I promise,” I vowed at once.
She sat at the kitchen table and alternately sobbed and gathered herself while I made coffee. Coffee made and served, I sat down, too, and listened. The story that unfolded was that her partner with whom she shared three children had lost control of his alcohol consumption. He’d always had a scotch between work and supper. Now, he had that scotch and another and one more and then just a couple of sips from the fourth glass.
“He’s not an angry drunk. To the contrary. He’s silly and laughs. The girls think he’s so much fun, really great. I know, though, that he’s not really there. His drinking has accelerated over the last couple of years. Lingering badgering from his first wife who is now remarried. Increasing blame toward him for the aimlessness of their daughter. His ex-wife has had custody and barely let him be in their daughter’s life and now it’s his fault she’s a mess?!?! Now, there’s growing tension at his law practice. There’s a shift in culture from the original ‘we will provide the best legal services in the city, and we’ll make a great living doing it’ to the now standard perspective of ‘we are going to make great incomes, and we’ll do it by providing legal services.’ He is so good-hearted, so genuinely loving that this cultural topsy-turvy is making him a little crazy. I’ve said maybe he could leave the firm and go with another practice, or he could go for teaching which was really his first love.”
Her mind and feelings wandered off somewhere. After a few minutes, I asked, “And?”
Sally brought herself back. “He says he’s too far in to change firms and that basically all the folks he started with are keeping to the original standards.”
Sally gets herself refocused on the situation at hand. “I don’t care whatever about the firm and the income and the status. What I care about is living with the man I married and raising the children we’ve made. What I cannot do is stay with someone who is awash with alcohol every night and who will eventually, if we keep on this trajectory, choose scotch over his children and me.”
Now, she was totally bold and self-contained. “I told him last night either he quits scotch, or I quit him.” Then, part of herself collapsed into this pivotal moment, she sobbed and gasped the final question, “What if he chooses scotch?”
I let her breathe a minute and answered, “If he does, you’ll manage. You and the girls will manage, survive, and thrive. You will. It’s what you do. Honestly, though, I cannot imagine that – whatever the hurdles and hardships he’s facing are – that he would choose any life other than the one he’s building with through living with you and the girls.”
And he did say “farewell” to scotch and all of scotch’s brothers and sisters and cousins. He did hold fast and tenderly to Sally and the girls. He helped his first daughter as much as he could with educational and employment opportunities. He did all that he could to try to keep the “service first, income second” culture as long as he could.
Sally entrusted me with her plight, her story, her secret. I promised. I have kept that promise for more than 40 years. This is my first telling of Sally’s story. I have changed the names as well lots of details to protect my friend of so many decades.
[To be honest, I started to go with a Roseanne Roseannadanna play on words - entrusted with encrusted like “pecan encrusted baked chicken breast” with the classic “nevermind.” I hope a couple of you, at least, remember and laugh.]
— Marmar
Wonderful story. It is rare that that level of alcoholism works out the right way. And as Emily Litella would remark "I'm glad there wasn't any of that violins"
ReplyDeleteYes, of course! Who could forget Roseanna Roseannadanna?! But you did have a serious story to tell. It's good to hear when things turn out well. Alcohol is hard to give up. I'm impressed with... no name given. Good for him. (Macoff)
ReplyDelete