Putting Away Childish Things

We recently rearranged my daughters’ room. We sawed apart their bunkbeds and separated them to their own sides. Now they can put whatever they want on “their” wall and now they have the responsibility of keeping their own side clean.  The age gap is obvious. On one side is a small school desk with crayons and little scissors, and on the other side is a desk with perfume and makeup.

We took everything out of their room, and I told them we weren’t taking it all back in. They had accumulated too many things that they never used.  I was discussing with my older daughter where we would put her snowglobe collection when she told me that she didn’t really care about them anymore and they didn’t need to be put back in. I wasn’t completely surprised because she hadn’t asked for any snowglobes in at least a year.

I told her we could wrap them up in a tote and put them in storage.  I decided to take care of that while all the kids except my two-year-old were gone to town with my husband. I’m glad no one was here while I did it-because I cried. Maybe I have just been emotional lately for some reason-maybe Christmas and missing loved ones-I don’t know. But as I wrapped each snowglobe and packed it away, I couldn’t help but feel that I was packing away a part of my daughter’s childhood. With each wrap of the cloth, I remembered the excitement in her big brown eyes every time she would get a new one, and I realized anew that my little girl is growing up.

She will be 13 in two short months and is becoming a wonderful young lady. She is smart, creative, Charismatic, loving, and empathetic. I love seeing her grow, but as she does, she becomes more and more independent.  She may be the most independent of all the kids. Which I know is a good thing-the goal actually-to raise independent kids who can stand up for themselves and their beliefs, and make their own way in society and God’s Kingdom.

My brain tells me that, but my heart cracks just a little as I see her natural progression into womanhood and out of my home and protection.  I know as time goes on and my children grow ever closer to leaving my home and making their own, I will be very thankful for God’s Grace.


My Two Different Fathers

I had two different fathers. The first was loving, kind, intelligent and witty.  He told me how much he loved me, how proud he was of me, and how beautiful I was. He would follow this up with a phrase I heard often through the years: “You look just like your daddy. Aren’t you lucky?”  He was fiercely loyal and protective.  He taught me respect that has been beneficial in every aspect of my life.  Everyone-whether a boss, coworker, friend, cashier at the store, complete stranger-appreciates respect.

He took us camping and played softball and kickball with us.  He loved canoeing.

He attended college for sociology but due to a variety of factors wasn’t able to finish. He loved to read and write. Perhaps I get that from him. Yes, I’m sure I do, along with the sarcasm and family loyalty.

He would call me just to see how I was doing and we would have long conversations. He would ask me if I needed money (though I knew he didn’t have much himself).  He would invite me over for dinner.

He loved to garden.  I specifically remember one year that he planted a bunch of hot peppers. I remember because he told me to make sure not to touch my face after I picked some. I forgot and while I was driving home I rubbed my eye. I had to pull over and wait for the searing pain to subside.

This was the dad I wanted my kids to know.  He would have been a wonderful Grandpa. However, due to my other father, I kept them at a distance.

My other father could be very mean. He had vulgar language and made me cry with his words on more than one occasion. He got in fights. He demanded respect, but not in a loving way.  I never really knew what he might say and do.  I was afraid of him.  So were other people. This dad was selfish and had a hard time seeing outside of his own world to consider other people’s feelings.  This was the dad who drank.

It was a roller-coaster ride throughout his life- brief times of sobriety followed by longer periods of bondage to alcohol. Each time he was sober, we hoped this time it would be for good, but in our hearts we doubted it.  He attended AA meetings at one point, he even helped run the meetings for a time. Then he believed he had learned all he needed to and could do it on his own. He was wrong.

Finally, because of the condition of his liver, amongst other things, his doctor told him he was going to die if he didn’t quit drinking.  He was 58. He said he wanted to be around for his family (even this father had a deep love for his children). He quit-at home, alone, cold-turkey.  He went from drinking around 2 fifths of whiskey a day to nothing. He called me disoriented, unsure of where he was or even what time period it was.  I hurried over and called an ambulance.

His body was in shock and he was having hallucinations and violent episodes. They finally sedated him and put him on a thiamine treatment. This worked but he was suffering from alcohol induced dementia and the doctor wouldn’t release him without a guardian. So, I became my father’s guardian for the last year of his life.

The dementia mostly cleared within a few months, but the damage to his body had been done. He needed someone to dispense his medications and care for him, so the only choice was an adult foster care home. We all had families and children, and it just wasn’t possible to care for him and our own families.

Despite the fact that this terribly independent and prideful man wasn’t pleased with the way it all turned out, it ended up being a blessing in a lot of ways. It forced him to remain sober. In the last year of his life, his grandkids finally got a chance to get to know him. They have funny memories of things he said and did when we visited. He also repaired two relationships that his sheltered world of drinking allowed him to ignore and pretend didn’t matter. One was with his sister, and one with his father. It brought my grandpa and my dad peace to repair this relationship.

He was also able to attend church with us on a fairly regular basis. I actually heard my dad pray aloud, and he told me he was making things right with God.  When I wish things could have been different at the end of his life, I remind myself of these blessings.  God made some beautiful things out of the ugly.

It is coming up on three years since my dad passed. I had to stop and make sure. It seems unreal that it could be that long.  I still think about how different things could have been if I had been able to have the first dad I wrote about all the time. What kind of relationship would he have had with his grandkids?

I have debated with myself whether it was better or worse to see the glimpses of how great my dad could have been had alcohol never gotten a hold of him.  Would I be as sad? Would it have been better to never know and just rest in the fact that I was better off not having him around?  I don’t think so. I think it’s good to know that some of the qualities I see as assets in myself and consequently my children, actually come from him. I have good stories to tell my kids. Alcoholism isn’t my dad’s only legacy.

I imagine him free now. Free from chronic pain. Free from bondage, and enjoying peace.  Someday, I’ll get to see that dad again, and it won’t be fleeting.

Despite the personal pain, I like to tell this story.  I hope that it will help someone in some way. Whether it’s a child of an alcoholic who can see that other people know where they are coming from and can understand what they have felt, or whether it’s a parent who may be able to see the pain they are causing their children and can stop it before it’s too late.

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