She’s Drunk
“Wait! What am I supposed to be doing now?” from my mother during a board game.
“So you don’t like gumbo?” […from my mother to a relative for the 10th time in the last 30 minutes]
While solemn remarks are being shared about a matriarch of our family, an unsolicited and loud, “And you used to beat me!” […an untrue statement from the side of the stage in an effort to be funny, followed by uproarious laughter from her singularly.]
Leaning over to pick up a Christmas gift from under the tree, down she crashed like a fallen tree, just barely missing my two-year-old daughter.
On each of these occasions and many more, my mother was drunk.
Does It Matter That She’s Drunk?
“Your mom is so funny and fun to be around! Does it matter that she’s drunk?”
I have heard that a lot throughout my life. When my mom is drunk, she is loud. She draws attention to herself. She laughs a lot and heartily, even if she is the only one and even if it is not clear exactly why she is laughing with such intensity. With slurred speech, she delivers jokes and one-line zingers one after the other, never mind the success rate.
She is very interactive, conversational and lovey-dovey. She is not given over to fighting and conflict nor hateful words or impulsive actions like many who are intoxicated.
Those who can spend a short time with her at a jovial event and then leave often enjoy her company. They buy her alcohol for her birthdays and the holidays, despite my admonitions. They enjoy seeing what they believe is her enjoying herself. And there is a lot of love in that.
Yes. It Matters.
But it matters that the loud, gregarious and often annoying person, who we all love, is drunk. Put aside the health issues that she is experiencing as well as the safety issues imposed when she takes actions that people under the influence should not take. Putting those serious and foremost issues aside only temporarily, it matters because that loud, gregarious and often annoying person is not her.
My undrunk mother is my real mother. My real mother was a quiet, reflective, thoughtful person. She was creative and diligent. Her conversation had depth and was substantive. My real mother liked to read. She was a sharp thinker, a good listener and keen problem-solver. My drunk mother is like a clown (intended literally, not to be disrespectful) – a masked, flat persona who is responsible for putting on a show. A character hiding the real dimensions of the individual’s identity who is behind the mask…or perhaps an individual being fully themselves but passing it off AS the behavior of a clown. The main differences, however, are that a clown is usually requested, and the clown has agency and choice. The clown can take the mask off whenever that person chooses. My mother cannot lay her mask down because of addiction.
I Want Her to Experience Peace
And this is the woman I am grieving the loss of: my real mother. In the last 10 years or more, I can count on one hand with fingers left over the number of times I have seen her undrunk or without alcohol in her system.
And this is the woman I am grieving the loss of: my real mother. I cannot remember the last time I have spoken with my undrunk mother in the last 10 years or more or at least my mother with no alcohol in her system. I would like to experience the deep relationship of trust and mutual exchange with my mother that you can only have with a person who is in their right might, and for my kids to, as well. But more than that, I want her to stay connected with herself. I want her to be fully present for her own life, not cloudy and unaware of what and how she is communicating. I want her to experience peace from whatever is driving her to drink in the first place.
Read more by S. Dione on Open to Hope: Evolving My Perspective on Grief – Open to Hope
