Several decades ago, I stood in the Dakota Badlands, marveling at the wagon ruts left over from the pioneer days. The tour guide said that these travelers had many fears and motivators as they battled the tough terrain. Rough winters and coyotes, the search for food and a driving inner fire blazed the trail, forging them west towards the unknown. I remember thinking that these people were risking their lives for a chance to start anew. Hard to know what they were running from or to, but not hard to understand the scamper. I remember my twenty-something self, looking down at those ruts and thinking that maybe their motivator was getting the hell away from their families where ruts of relation run deeper than those made by wagon wheels.
My brother is an alcoholic. It’s a heartbreaking disease. He was sober for a long time. Now he isn’t. I love him. I hate him. He has been in a detox unit and rehab this year and now he is drinking again, drinking with the commitment and intensity of someone who loves their sport. Drinking at breakfast, brunch, lunch, dinner, and snacktime. Drinking because it’s the centerfold of his life around which all other things and people orbit without gravity or grounding.
It’s hard to navigate a relationship with an addict. They manipulate and lie, yet it’s hard to stay mad with them. They make promises, cry, take little steps forward, yet it’s hard to believe them. They are dissecting themselves and their lives in front of you – and while you can pick up the pieces – they will eventually be thrown down again along with the empty cans and bottles. You cannot fix it and it kills you to watch them self destruct; breaks your heart that you can’t decode the bomb.
It has been a week of tough love for my brother. I have been enabling him – it has been out of hope and worry – it hasn’t helped. I am conflicted between loving kindness and accountability, held hostage by the fear that rock bottom may be like a collapsing coal mine, one that he may not survive. In the proverbial debate of WWJD and let go and let God, how can you ever be sure of when to do what?
My brother is stuck in a place that doesn’t exist anymore. Caught up in old tales and stories of his youth, of days when our parents were still alive. He speaks to people in our home town and doesn’t see how they look at him when his back is turned. He doesn’t see that they notice that most of his teeth are missing or that he has streaks of dirt on his neck. He doesn’t see that he looks homeless and desperate. He laughs and sings and tears up at country songs. He is harmless unless you block his chance to drink, then all is fair in love, war, and liquor. We parted ways for a while yesterday. I asked him to let me know when he is serious about getting better. He responded that he’s doing fine and with that I drove away, the shadow of his thin frame lingering in my rearview for miles and miles.
I know that somewhere inside the alcoholic armor, somewhere deep and dormant is my real brother and if he will drop that bottle and get back on the wagon, we can ride through these Badlands and be free.
He's fortunate to have a sister as strong as you Emily. Keep the door open. One firm foot planted in front of it to mark the line he needs to respect…but open. All you can do. Prayer is good too.
Also, develop a theme, write a book. You are a gifted writer.
Troy Kurtz
Emily,
Beautifully stated, filled with emotion and care. Acknowledging what is and desiring something better at the same time. Enabling, yet, recognizing the need to let go. Conflicted but certain of what to do. Always praying . . .
Keeping you and your brother in prayer.
Nigel
As I read your blog it brought memories of the times we spent with your brother…there is something very special about him. And I hope that your real brother comes back…soon. Love you and your brother…always.
And as I read your blog it also reminded me of my own experience with this…my heart breaks…loves…forgives…wants to hate…never forgets…keeps trying…never gives up….tired…exhausted…hope…hurts…today. Perhaps I don't know how to let go completely…or when… and even to the point of it destroying who I am….perhaps it is because I knew this person before his addiction…my real friend, love, family, and now ex husband.
I don't understand addiction but I also don't understand myself through all of this. Self…let go!
And thank you in advance for your prayers…;)
Emily,
A friend sent me this link with a promise of continued prayers for me and my family. I am surrounded by alcoholism and drug addictionl; reading your post was like reading a chapter of my own biography. My brother, my sister, my children…have all fallen short in their repeated attempts to put down their drink or their drug of choice. We love. We hate. We resent. We cry. We mourn. We enable. We plead and beg. We love. Sometimes we love them to death without knowing it. This rollercoaster ride is a common thread for those of us who love an addict.
If you have never attended an AlAnon or NarAnon meeting, I would encourage you to visit different ones in your area. They share hope and strength through their own experiences, and they help us understand that what we are going through is not unique. I am always amazed when I hear others tell of their loved ones battling with some kind of addiction.
Thank you for sharing your story. I wish you peace and will pray for you.
God bless you and your family Em…
I hope your brother reads this and chooses to
save his life. He may never know how fortunate he
is to have you in his life.
fondly
Mark and the gang
Loved reading this tthank you