I came home from the meeting tonight and my mother was asleep. I looked around the kitchen and it was apparent that all she had had for supper was some cheese and crackers and cookies…and scotch. Her drinking has always worried me, but at the age of 83 she can do what she wants, right? Despite the fact that all of her doctors have told her to only have 2 oz. (1/4 cup) of alcohol per day and that it interferes with her numerous medications, she continues to have her three cocktails, i.e. 6-8 oz. She has also begun, when retiring for the night at around 8:30PM or so, to take a small glass of booze to bed with her. This has happened a lot recently and the results have been less than good. She wakes up suddenly, depleted of sugar, gets out of bed, and falls down on the floor. Thankfully nothing serious has happened yet, but it will. I have written of this before.
All of her children love her and her doctors know best, but like an alcoholic in severe denial and fear, she will not stop. She acts like a petulant child when the subject is brought up or, in a fit of adult denial declares, “I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”
I know better than to try to cure her. I know that in many ways this is an Al-Anon situation. I know that I cannot be there for her all the time. I didn’t cause it and I can’t cure it.
Anyway, back to tonight…I went to use the phone in the kitchen and found it missing. I chose the logical path and went into her room, fearing I would wake her. In the dim light I saw two things. The first was the tumbler of scotch on her bedside table, and her snoring away. The second was the handset on the bed, next to her. She has her own telephone on the table next to her bed. I took the phone, and the scotch, and left the room. After pouring the drink down the sink, I realized that she might wake up later and want it. Tough. This is all too familiar…
Towards the end of my own drinking I kept a small glass of vodka on my night table for when I would come to in the middle of the night, my diseased mind demanding another sip of alcohol.
It is early morning here…around 1/4 past 1. In the morning, before we head off to her doctor’s for a checkup, I will speak to her again about this. I expect the same reaction as all the times before.
I know she’s afraid. I know she’s in denial. I know she’s an alcoholic. She knows some of these things too, I think, and the reality is far too difficult to accept than the fog of dangerous forgetfulness and drunken slumber.
Johnnyboy
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