Im lumping #2 and 3 together as they happened in the same manner, via #alcoholism. Also, because there are parallels with suicide but Im not sure they can be safely put in the suicide category.
The parallel with suicide is that they knew what they were doing would kill them. Watching someone die from alcohol is like watching them play russian roulette for a really long time. Only the odds don’t stay the same, they never turn the barrel and so you know the end is getting closer.
Im also left behind by a fourth caualty of suicide. The fourth though hurt the most, more then the first three put together. It deserves its own post, maybe 2.
I wasn’t around my Aunt B very much growing up. She was the one who had escaped living with my grandma and grandpa so I didnt see her as often as I did the people who lived in the house. She was beautiful when she was younger though, actually both my aunts were.
Aunt B had long blond hair, she was funny, fun, and athletic… so Im told. But again, for a long time the only thing I knew about her was that she was beautiful and it was always a bit more light hearted when she would show up, until it wasn’t.
Her passing wasn’t sudden but it was imminent. In the time I knew her she went from beautiful to bloated. She had a quick wit but died in a dull depression. The emotional impact of her passing was minimal. It was the consequence of her passing that took the emotional toll. I haven’t decided if I’ll write about this yet. Technically its still on going so I havent really processed it fully.
The other suicide by the bottle was my father. I only knew him as a recovering alcoholic for one very short period in my life. The duration of time is so insignificant that I really don’t know how old I was or how long it lasted. I guess I was probably 7 or 8 though. I do remember my mom taking me to see him at the rehab place. It was obvious he was hurting and embarrassed. He looked pathetic and he probably felt pathetic. I don’t remember seeing him completely sober ever again.
In a way, that was the moment he comitted suicide. Unbeknown to us (me) our opportunity for healing died then. There were many more heartaches, broken promises, and fucked up situations but there was never any reconciliation or closure, the window closed.
Thats another reason why his death, to me, was like a suicide. I was left with 100 questions. I never got an answer from him why he did it. I never got to ask why his addiction was greater than me. Why did he choose alcohol and death over me? Why didn’t you love me?
When he finally passed I didn’t cry. I didn’t really feel anything at the funueral except maybe inconvenienced. People didn’t say things like “at least he lived a full life” or “he’ll be missed”. No one came to me and even tried to pretend that he had been a good dad. Shit, even the preacher, who didn’t know him or my family from Adam, couldn’t come up with anything positive to say about him without an asterisk.
My father also had the disadvantage of passing 3 years after my dad. My dad’s suicide was the 4th. He was the man who is largely responsible for who I am today. When my father died I was still a mess from losing my dad to suicide. Thats how my father’s death wasn’t like a suicide, I wasn’t devastated, I wasn’t shocked, or lost as to how I could continue living my life…I was just a little more fucked up.
The mentality and behavior of drug addicts and alcoholics is wholly irrational until you understand that they are completely powerless over their addiction and unless they have structured help, they have no hope. –Russell Brand