Death by Alcohol
7 minute read
I knew something was wrong. Dad had been in the hospital for a few days, and I dreaded the thought of going to see him. It wasn’t because I didn’t love my father. No, I dreaded seeing him because of the main reason he was hospitalized to begin with: alcohol abuse. I thought this was just another dry-out period for his struggle with alcohol.
One day, while I was talking on the phone with my brother Danny, he said, “Dad’s not doing so well.” I sensed from the distress in his voice that, this time, it was very serious, and I decided to immediately pay Dad a visit. As I hurried through the main doors of the hospital, I quickly scurried down a hall leading to the elevator that would take me up to the fourth floor. Following the signs that displayed the room numbers, I found Danny standing in the hallway outside our father’s room. He informed me that he had just talked to the doctor, and there was nothing more they could do for Dad. Unfortunately, there was no medical procedure for a simultaneous transplant of the heart, lung, kidney, and liver.
After receiving this somber news, I followed my brother into the room where a nurse was tending to our father. She smiled, quickly finished her task, and exited the room. Danny and I, standing at the foot of the bed, managed to smile despite the grave circumstances, and Dad grinned back. I remember him looking much older than his 56 years and I’ll never forget the first words that came out of his mouth. “Boys, that drinking and smoking just ain’t worth it.” I stood in silence as I stared back at him, but deep inside I wanted to scream out, “Now you tell us! It’s too late you’re dying!”
I chose to remain silent, knowing that I also had this same problem with alcohol. Seeing my dad in this humbling condition, I promised myself to never drink again. His statement was the first and last time he warned us about the perils of a drunken lifestyle—a lifestyle he chose to live.
Also, it was during this visit that we found out that Dad would be going to his sister’s home, where he would be under the care of hospice. It was Dad’s dying wish. Aunt Pam and Uncle Kevin made the necessary arrangements for dad, who would be discharged from the hospital the following day.
As I awoke from a restless night’s sleep, I started packing my bags, uncertain how many outfits I should take. I would stay by my father’s side until his death, which we were informed would be soon, but nobody could really tell us what “soon” meant. He might hang on a few more days or a few more months. So I prepared for an extended stay.
Upon my arrival at Aunt Pam’s, I was surprised to see that Dad was already there. Hospice had provided a hospital bed that was set up in the living room, and Dad was sleeping peacefully. Aunt Pam introduced me to one of the several nurses who would be stopping by daily. She counseled us on what to expect and how to help Dad remain as comfortable as possible. We gave him Benadryl to help halt the itching caused by his failing liver. We kept the remote control for the television next to him, so he could watch his favorite shows, which were usually Westerns.
I remember feeling sorrowful. Not only was I losing a father, but other friends and family members were losing a loved one too. It broke my heart to see my dad in the condition that he was in, but it hurt even more to see the grief on the faces my loved ones. Being the oldest child, I felt I had to remain strong for the rest of the family, and perhaps in their eyes I was strong, but my insides felt weak. There was so little that could be done to help ease the pain that everyone was going through, which only increased my own pain. Looking back now, I feel that all of us being there together helped in giving us all the strength we needed to get through a sad time in our lives. Each of us did the best we could to encourage and support each other as we took care of him. We laughed, cried, and shared stories to help pass the time as we waited for my father’s approaching doom. We discussed funeral arrangements and the possibility that Dad could die on my birthday, which was less than a week away.
One of the stories I shared from my childhood was that Dad and I loved to watch boxing. He would pull out the hide-a-bed from the couch located in the living room, prop up several pillows so I could get a better view of the television, and we would stay up late into the night, snacking on popcorn and enjoying the fights. It was moments like these that I treasured, because not only were Mom and Dad together, but Dad was also not drinking.
During those first few days, we had several family members and friends stop by to visit my dad. Most days Dad was alert and talkative and seemed to enjoy the visitors. One guest brought over an American flag to give to him because it was Veteran’s Day. Dad, a Vietnam vet, was a proud American. We hung the flag on the living room wall beside his bed. The following day, I asked him if he would like for us to take it down, and he replied, “No, keep it up.” I still have that same flag, which hangs in my bedroom in memory of my father.
One of my top priorities was to contact my pastor to request that he come visit my dad. I wanted to know if Dad was saved. Although I wasn’t living much of a Christian lifestyle, I was very concerned about my father’s salvation. Pastor Dale promptly came over, and we left him alone to talk to him. I was outside puffing on a cigarette when the pastor exited the home. He informed me that Dad admitted he had, at some point in his life, accepted Christ as his Savior; the pastor assured me Dad would be in Heaven soon. I found great comfort in learning this, but also some regret for not being a better Christian, because the path I chose to walk was flooded with alcohol too.
One day, the nurse tried giving my dad a sponge bath. He refused to allow her to touch him and was becoming angry. To stop the quarreling, I told the nurse that my brother and I would do it. With an uncertain look, she proceeded to tell us what we needed to do. She also informed us that we needed to try to get him to eat more. Dad was constipated, and if he didn’t have a bowel movement by the time she came back the next day, she would have to perform a procedure that would be very uncomfortable for him.
After she had left, we made Dad some soup, and he ate. A few hours had passed when he informed us that he needed to go to the bathroom. Realizing the difficulty, he would have in taking that walk, my brother and I instead helped him out of bed and gently set him upon the portable commode conveniently located beside the bed. I grimaced while observing the difficulty Dad had in performing what was once such a simple task. It was during this time that Danny suggested giving him a sponge bath. To my surprise, Dad agreed. We retrieved some bowls of warm water and washcloths. When Dad finished with his bowel movement, we gently stood him up and leaned him forward to rest on the bed. I wiped his behind with some toilet paper followed by a washcloth to make sure he was clean. After discarding the dirty cloth, we grabbed another and proceeded to give Dad a sponge bath. I washed his hair over a big bowl that was sitting on the bed and I combed his hair. When we were through, we helped him change into a clean pair of pajamas, laid him down and pulled the covers up to his chest. I can’t help but think how embarrassed he must have felt; however, I know he appreciated what his boys had done for him—he gave us a thumbs up.
I know that there are times in life when we are forced to care for our loved ones either because of old age, disease, a tragic accident, or even from an abnormal birth; however, my dad’s demise was caused by something that was in his control: alcohol abuse.
Despite the somber mood and circumstances, I cherish those last memories of my father. We told each other, “I love you,” something that wasn’t the norm. I’m grateful for the opportunity we had to say our good-byes; however, my dad’s miserable plight from years of drinking that started shortly after the divorce from my mother, left me bitter. He had quit his job at General Motors, resulting in his providing very little for his three children. And as his drinking increased, so did the broken promises to spend time with us. I was never angry with him. He was never a mean drunk. In fact, he was a quiet man who never said a bad word about anybody. I felt he drank so much because he was sad. A feeling I understood all too well. After my divorce, I went downhill and started drinking heavy. Divorce is a hard thing for many people to go through. Some people handle it better than others. For my father and I… we did not manage it in a healthy way. However, it helped me understand my father’s pain. Watching him die from years of drinking angered me towards alcohol, and I did not want to end up the same way he did.
It was the day before my birthday. Dad was sleeping when I noticed a change in the way he was breathing. The time between each gasp of air grew further apart. All who were present sensed the time had come, and we gathered around the bedside waiting for him to take his last breath. Aunt Pam turned on the stereo which filled the room with Dad’s favorite music. As an old, slow country song called “Still” by Bill Anderson played, my father drifted away.
No matter how much one prepares for the death of a loved one, the very moment it happens, it still hurts. We cried and hugged each other till someone decided to call the funeral home. Browns came that evening to pick up my dad’s body, leaving behind a death certificate. I picked up the single piece of paper from off the dining room table and read, “Death caused by alcohol abuse.”
Dad’s body wasn’t gone fifteen minutes when a family member decided to purchase some beer. Remembering my promise to myself not to drink, I called some friends, the Travis family, whom I used to attend church with several years prior. They invited me to spend the night, and I accepted. Lori picked me up and dropped me off at my desired destination. I am so thankful for all my Christian friends. They helped me get through a very rough night.
The following morning, I was given a ride home. As I climbed out of the car, I hugged each family member and thanked them for letting me spend the night. I waved goodbye as the car slowly faded out of sight. I then turned away from my home and strolled to the nearest bar. I hesitated a moment just inside the door, while my eyes adjusted to the darkness. Then, squaring my shoulders, I took a stool at the bar, pulled out my ID, and ordered a birthday drink.
UPDATE– This essay was originally written in 2009 for a college class I was taking.
My dad died in 2003 and it took many more years for me to finally give up on alcohol. Thanks to AA, I have a better understanding of the disease of alcoholism. My sobriety date is 7-13-19.
So not to confuse people who know me, this man was my adopted father and helped raise me. I have his last name and I have a great deal of love and respect for him despite how it ended. I now know my biological father and I’m happy to say we have a good relationship today. I felt the need to say that!
Sad Art Image by sam-lim at Deviant art https://www.deviantart.com/sam-lim/art/Sad-Birthday-840340237