So, the Thanksgiving meal was almost over with when a call came in...the call almost went unanswered but the ring had a certain sound to it. The phone was picked up and the voice belonged to my sister. It was saying something like dad rolled a truck four times and is on life support. "Isn't dad in jail," I asked? She went on to inform me that he was able to get a little break in between jail terms (something about 5 DUI's in 6 months...) and managed to borrow someone's vehicle just in time to get wasted and drive.
I can't help but laugh right now, but it did take a little while for the intitial shock to wear off. I thought what she was telling me was that my dad was dead and they were pulling the tube. Turns out, they removed the breathing tube as he was able to breath on his own. I thought about his disappointment when he woke up alive. I felt the desperation. What I felt wasn't the typical reserved anger, it was sadness and empathy. Being such a sick individual has driven him to routinely violent, selfish and tragic behavior over the years. Even though I have forgiven him and have managed a great deal of peace in the process, there still seems to be some things between us that need to be resolved if possible.
He's been doing his best to die for quite some time. This will just go down as one more unsuccessful attempt and a large extension to his vacation. The timing of an alcoholic is impeccable. The options are few when the the individual is active. The Big Book says the only way out for a wet drunk is jails, institutions or death. These come in all forms and operate on their own time schedules.
The other night, someone asked me if I was still "on the wagon." I said yes and he asked "Why?"
Um, yeah, I'll take life please.
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