My Pops

Was an Alcoholic

He was a great man but he always was an alcoholic.  I didn't understand it when I was young.
I didn't know at a very young age why dad was different sometimes different other times.

Especially at night when he got home from the bar.  I remember lots of nights wondering when he would get home.
Lots of times my mother supported all of us.  My brother and I were often left alone at home because my mom was
always working and my dad would ditch us and go to the bar all day.

But he loved us and there were good things.  There were also things that no one should ever have to live through.
Horrible things.  So, as i recall I always hated alcohol.  I remember getting super wasted on a few occasions.
I've blacked out a few times and once I got in a rumble at a family thing and completely forgot about it.

So I vowed years ago never to drink and I have stuck to it.  I drink on the 4th of July, once a year. 

My father was a mean drunk.  And he drank a lot.  He tried to tell me I think that the drinking had gotten to his health.
I knew it wasn't good for him.  I turned a blind eye saying lots of people live to an old age drinking.  My dad used to give
me excuses.  Now that I look back on it I think he enjoyed his life.  He was a well known and interesting person who lived
a very dangerous life.

I used to go to his favorite bar and pick him up.  I remember I was in my mid twenties and he was in his early fifties and I
would go to his house and he would have a black eye from a fight he got into.  And that was his life.  He was a scrapper.
He was pretty rough but he had a close group of friends I can't say they were the best people.  My dad was hell incarnate.

I really miss him though.  I was one of the only people who saw past all his faults all his frailties.  He was a man.  He was a
person out of time.  He had a hard childhood that I can't possibly describe here.  And he truly never left the values and ethics
of the fifties I really believe that. I mourn that he couldn't be more open minded that he couldn't be more able to control his
alcoholism however I got to be his friend.  If I had confronted him I think he would have retreated.  Plus nobody told him nothing
and that's all there was to it.  My brother missed out.

As my dad aged he got wiser.  He changed a lot.  He was mean but he was a mean ol teddy bear.  My brother was always afraid
of him but I got to a point where I wasn't scared.  I think that's his problem, my fathers that he was a megalomaniac who could
flatter you and also slip into your heart but also stab you in it at the same time.  He was a good neighbor helped all the good peopleh
he could but he was racist. 

What he's my dad and you can't run from your past.  However you can acknowledge it and swear to do better.  I'm proud of myself.
I can say though that my father at my age lived a life that if he died he could say he lived alot already so it wouldn't be as tragic however
I feel like there is so much more I can do and miss out on all the time I would feel at that last moment unfulfilled. 

So It was Christmas.  I understand why people hate Christmas it's the time that we all get together and it's the time we find out who's dying
or who is sick or who is whatever but it's the time we find things out. 

In July my father was a strong thriving man as far as we could all tell.  By Christmas he was barely alive.  Basically I took him to the ER
I spent Christmas in the ER getting the news that my father is a walking corpse.  It took him 6 months to die.  I spent as much time with him
as I could.  People didn't believe me.  They all believed some Miracle was going to happen.  I told them all they were being naive and they
needed to come see him that they needed it.  But my father told people to stay away and he convinced people and even me over the phone
several times that he was better than he actually was.  It almost seemed too good.

Than there was that night.  The night we all fought the night we drove hours and hours and the night that turned into days that turned into a month of my father dying.  I serviced his every need and as the poisons in his body slowly or might I say quickly took his life he died horribly agonizingly and uncomfortably painful death.  You could never imagine because I could never imagine. 

And the real tragedy is that despite the pain and the lesson that my fathers life has served.  There will be more suicide by alcohol or is it a disease?  Genetic or is that just an excuse?  I don't know it too much for my father to resist but not too much for his son.  Will my kid take the fact that I don't drink as an example of good ethics or a weakness.  Would they be genetically predisposed to be alcoholics?  I hope not but I truly know that if you could only
walk my shoes you would quit.  You wouldn't choose alcohol over life.  My father wished he could go back.  He told me there were a lot of things he would have done differently.  Remorse, I guess I wanted to see it.  I asked too much of a dying man and I got what I deserved.

We all have our shames we all have our pains but alcohol isn't good I know that. 
jfeltes jfeltes
26-30, M
May 10, 2012