respawningsober

[respawningsober]

Celebrating my son's first birthday yesterday was a profound moment, spent in the comfort of our home with my lady. Despite the rainy weather, his infectious smile and playful demeanor filled the day with joy. My son's presence has transformed me in ways I never anticipated, reshaping my understanding of love and commitment. It was also the one year mark of my sobriety.

The moment my lady went into labor served as a catalyst for change. I was drinking that night. Honestly, I was drinking most nights. Alcohol had been my love for a long long time and I've been in a toxic relationship with it since I was around 12, sadly. When she went into labor, I was a good halfway drunk and decided I needed to sober up immediately and stay that way. It called my mother to memory.

My mother is a can of worms I'm not sure I'm ready to dive into yet, but she's relevant to this story so I have to include her. My mom died after a long battle with dementia and various health problems. She was sick for many, many years and alcohol was a crutch to get over it as well as any other problems I had. A lot of things I simply don't remember because I was blasted out of my mind on booze or anything I could get my hands on. I remember some of the night she died, though. I remember my dad and a couple friends in the living room and all of us were drinking and watching TV (not mom, obviously).

My mother was surprisingly lucid that night. Knowing who all of us were and what was going on. She was in good spirits listening to all of us reminiscing and chattering nonsense. She elected to go lay down and watch TV in her bedroom after a good dinner dad and I worked on. She told Dad to hang out with us and that she loved us all and retired to her room to watch her constant reruns of Law and Order. That didn't change when she fell ill, I think she always loved the crime shows and true crime stories. I probably got that from her. Dad checked on her constantly as we drank in the living room and had our little get together.

After she fell asleep, the night gets blurry for me. I don't remember anything about it. One of my friends left and one elected to stay. Him and I call each other Majestic. He's in recovery now himself and he's still one of my favorite people. He tearfully told me everything that happened the next day. I was passed out, unconscious. I was unconscious for my dad discovering my mom had passed in the night. I was unconscious for him waking and retrieving my sister and her having a sobbing meltdown. I was unconscious for the EMTs recovering her body. I knew nothing about anything until I woke up. My dad sitting alone in a dark living room in mom's favorite chair. He stared at an unpowered television and nursed a beer. He told me that mom was gone. He told me everything I had missed but he didn't talk about his feelings, or if he was okay. We didn't discuss much that night. Majestic was still asleep in my floor and would catch me up on the specifics when he awoke.

I was passed out when my mother's passing unfolded, a fact that haunts me to this day. The guilt of not being present for my family during such a pivotal moment weighs heavily on my conscience.

I hate myself that I wasn't there. I regret that I couldn't at least have suffered with everyone else I hate that I couldn't have held my sister while she cried. I hate that my dad suffered most of that night alone and stuck in his own head. I know, realistically, that I couldn't have changed anything. I know I couldn't have changed the outcome or had any effect on how it hurt everyone there. It still bothers me to this day. Not just one occurence, but dozens and hundreds. So many moments in time simply lost in a fog of alcoholism because I was incapable of dealing with my life.

It all came flooding back when my lady went into labor. I poured out the rest of the alcohol in the house and simply never looked back. I refused to not be completely present for my son. I wasn't going to hide in the sweet blackness of being drunk. I haven't drank since that night, which served as a wake up call to WANT to remember. To be in the moment. And for my son to not have to put up with a lot that I did. So far so good.

One day at a time.