This one is hard and it’s taken me a while to post something about our divorce.  The delay is partly because I’m just plain busy installing the show in the gallery (as Delia, of course), partly because I had to interview 3 people for this one and, because of the touchy subject matter, wanted to send a copy to each person before I posted anything.  But it is also because I uncomfortable talking about such an unhappy time in my family, so I put it off.

Not surprisingly, interviewing my mom, dad and brother was difficult but also very gratifying.  I feel closer to my family than ever.  After all these years there are still a few unresolved feelings on all sides, but I’m impressed by how open they were willing to be in their stories and how delicately they dealt with this subject.  You are going to get the edited version because although they all spoke to me candidly, no one wanted to hurt anyone’s feelings.  My mom was concerned that she would say something that could hurt my dad or show him in a bad light and my dad was equally concerned that I would post something that could hurt my mom.  My parents are good people.

My memory is foggy about the time before, during and after the divorce.  There are a few moments I remember vividly.  Like video clips taken out of context and played over and again, I fear they are warped and a skewed view of events.

I remember going for out dinner with my mom.  We probably went to the Hotdog Stand which was a funny little place with great Chicago dogs and video games.  My brother used to spend the entirety of his paper route money there, which I, being a miserly girl, found appalling. 

After we ate dinner, mom and I walked home slowly, chatting about school and my friends.  Sometimes my mom and I did things together, just the two of us, and it always felt special.  I don’t think we had very much money at that time so that surely added to the feeling. 

When we got home, there was blood on the stairs, smears and drops leading up to the master bedroom.  I don’t even remember being scared, just feeling like ‘Oh no, no.  Why do things have to be like this?’

I don’t remember how we got him downstairs.  I just remember my dad sitting on the toilet and my mom asking me to put his shoes on while she called the hospital.  But his eyes looked funny, he smelled like alcohol and he was bleeding.  I didn’t want to go near him.  I wasn’t scared of him.  I loved him.  But felt paralyzed, I wanted to be somewhere else, anywhere else.

I think my mom ultimately had to put them on because I couldn’t.

Later that year, I don’t know how much later.  I remember visiting my dad in rehab.  I don’t remember what the place looked like or seeing my dad or what we did there.   All I remember is walking down a hallway and seeing a man in a wheel chair.  His skin was yellow.  His eyes were blank.  He had a blanket over his legs.  I didn’t know a human being could look like that.  I did know that somehow alcohol could do that to a person.

The time during the divorce is a confusing blur with no order or distinct memories. 

After my dad moved out, I remember visiting him by myself.  My brother didn’t want to see him anymore.  I did.  He lived in an apartment in a yellow house, within walking distance from our house.  When I visted, I think we simply ate dinner or watched TV.  I really don’t remember what we did.  I didn’t matter to me.  I just wanted to see my dad.

It didn’t matter that he would still drink sometimes or that things had been messed up for a long time.  I loved him, and I think understood that he was just sick but underneath it all was my dad who had always been kind and adored me.  This experience taught me to accept people’s flaws (we all have them), love them for the good parts, and protect yourself from the bad.

Recently, I said to my aunt, “You can totally love and accept the person but still be clear with them that you don’t approve of their drinking.”  She laughed and said, “You are a poster child for Alanon.”   Maybe, maybe not.  All I know is that I love my dad and he hasn’t had a drop to drink in 25 years, but if he was still drinking, I would still love him with my whole heart.