The Sad Rainbow Inside Our Medicine Cabinet

Alcohol was eating away at my father’s insides, sending him into free fall of physical troubles and a deluge of mental problems. But alcoholism wasn’t the only thing that ailed him.

Ever since he attempted suicide as a young man, his bodily health was never the same. As you can imagine, firing a foreign object into your guts point-blank can leave a devastating aftereffect. It was the choice he made, and the consequences came with it. Over the next decades, he’d pick up the pieces from that tragic day, added to new health problems that certainly were helped along by more poor decisions and personal neglect.

 

Testify to Tough Love

My father’s return wasn’t the joyous, celebrated homecoming that he probably had in mind. He got progressively worse — the polar opposite of his stay in Seattle, even with the Christmas Eve relapse. Drugs, alcohol and the wrong crowd were his undoing, as his two children stared on in helpless wonder.

Each time we left his lonely, sorrowful apartment, trekking 30 miles to the home he used to share with us, a common thought united my sister and me: “I hope this isn’t the last time we see dad; I hope he’s alive the next time we’re here.”

 

The Summer of (Positively) Love: An HIV Story

Dad’s stay in Seattle was cut short due to loneliness. Simply put: He missed his kids. When he boarded the plane for the Pacific Northwest, his intent was a brief visit to catch up with his brother’s family which he rarely saw. And when my uncle, having seen my father’s deteriorating condition, refused to allow his return flight, my dad was stuck in a place he both loved and loathed. He loved it because — let’s be honest — the Emerald City is culturally alive; he hated it because it wasn’t where my sister and I were.

 

So This Is Christmas, and What Have You Done?

As I write, I continually try to balance segue with chronology. Since my last post on the subject of Christmas, I have decided to stay on that topic just a little while longer, even if it does deviate a bit from my story’s time line. With the holidays still fresh in our hearts and minds, writing about my worst Christmas ever will resonate more than if I’d write about it in, say, sultry July.

As I indicated last time, the holidays overall were an ugly time in our home. One Christmas, in particular, really reared its ugly head for all to see. The situation had finally reached a boiling point. What is the unofficial definition of insanity? It’s doing the same thing repeatedly and expecting a different result.