“It was snowing really badly and it was dark. I was in high school at the the time. We were headed over to Connecticut where my aunt lived for some reason I can’t remember. My Dad was driving. This car right in front of us just disappeared over the snowy embankment. They lost control all of a sudden. I watched the lights as they went dark, over the edge of the road and disappeared. It was a van, so there must have been a family in it.
At the time, Dad was telling me how he was firing the Property Manager Larry, who had worked for him for ten years because of his judgmental, insubordinate attitude. I had to interrupt him to yell, “Dad! Aren’t we gonna stop?”
His voice was so calm, I remember. “Someone else will stop,” he said, and went right on talking about Larry. I was sick to my stomach, twisting backwards to see if anyone else saw them and stopped, twisting inside to make sense of the man who was my Dad.
Years later, after my mother’s funeral, Dad told me that I deserved to know how Mom had really died. Other than this, we weren’t speaking. He’d already fired me by then because of my judgmental, insubordinate attitude.
Dad told me that he’d found Mom so drunk, that she was passed out with her eyes open. She didn’t leave the house anymore, or eat, but he’d buy her a big bottle every other day. That day, she drank it all at once and died.
“Did you call 911?” That’s alcohol poisoning, when they lie there like that with their eyes open. Mom had been passed out for most days of my life, so we knew the potential lethality of consuming that much at once.
No, he had not called 911. He said he didn’t want to go through her fighting detox again and that he thought she’d be fine in the morning. He also said she woke up, that he’d bought her breakfast from the deli, that she’d even said he was the love of her life and that he left for work and later he came home and found her. I did not believe a word of that last bit. I knew my Dad. More likely, he stepped over her, as he’d done thousands of times, figuring there was nothing for him to do, and that she’d sober up until he handed her the next bottle. He’d watched the lights as they went dark, over the edge of the road, and disappeared.
I ended up in therapy at Carson because my wife was sick of me being so passive in our relationship. It took me some time to piece my story together and understand the many things I’d learned from my Dad. But I am learning new ways to be. I am not going to pretend that things will get better on their own. I’m learning new things at Carson until we are healthy and happy at home.”
Story by JAC Patrissi
