Bottom of the Ninth

           

My father was my hero. Actually, he still is, even though he passed away six years ago today. He was a man of great character and integrity and had an incredible sense of humor, which he maintained right up to the very end of his life. Shortly before he died, he was in the final stages of emphysema and struggling to breathe, my mother tried to comfort him – “Joe, we are so lucky” she whispered (thinking of the 43 years of marriage they had shared) – he just looked up, and without missing a beat remarked “Yeah, if I could breathe, I’d be whistling….”

That was my father, Joe –quick-witted and always with a smile on his face. He could make me laugh at the drop of a hat – and our daily phone calls always consisting of lots of funny stories and lots of love.

It wasn’t always that way. Growing up as the only girl with three younger brothers, I found plenty to complain about. Our family life revolved around sports – particularly hockey and baseball. My father would make sure he made every Little League game and hockey practice for each of “the boys” and it seemed like our lives revolved around tryouts, practices and games. The missed dinners, the countless weekend afternoons spent on baseball fields and hockey rinks made me very resentful and jealous. I felt like the “odd girl out”. As a rebellious teenager who knew it all, I staged my own personal “baseball strike” – and stopped going to the games and would avoid family dinner time all together.

Eventually, somewhere a long the line, things between us improved. We began to get closer and even began talking, I mean really talking with each other. Growing up and maturing has a way of doing that. Or maybe it was when he stopped drinking. Maybe it was when I did. I sort of think it was a combination of it all.

One thing is for sure, the end of “our” drinking definitely played a huge role in this transformation.

As a young girl, my father’s drinking had an enormous affect on me. Although he didn’t drink every day, when he did, he would get drunk. I know it sounds terrible, but I was ashamed of my father’s drunken behavior. I grew up watching “The Brady Bunch” and Mike Brady certainly never behaved this way. Although I loved my father deeply, I couldn’t stand to be around him when he drank. Alcohol changed him and I didn’t like that change one bit.

And then he stopped drinking. To be honest, I do not remember the exact date when my father decided to stop or what events lead to it.  What I do remember is that all of sudden he was not drinking anymore. There were no proclamations, no intervention, no rehab – he just stopped. I guess enough had become enough. Although his decision was evidently a private one – it had a tremendous impact on my entire family. The embarrassment and shame was replaced with deep love, respect and affection. As a sober man, he was all that I could ever hope a father would be (and put Mike Brady to shame!)

Unfortunately, things had not gotten completely better – because I had started drinking. At first, it was just because all my friends were doing it, but pretty quickly it became apparent that I drank differently from my friends. I now know that I was born with this genetic predisposition to alcohol, but for years I just believed that I was just a girl who liked to “party hard”.  And boy did I ever. Over the next 20 something years, my drinking went from something I did socially, to loosen up and enjoy myself, to something I did to take the edge of it. It was no longer an option, but becoming a necessity.

In June of 2001 my father had a talk with me. He told me how concerned he was about my drinking and that I needed to stop. I felt numb – I couldn’t believe he had just addressed the “elephant” in the room. I thought I had hidden it so well from my family – obviously I hadn’t. And one of the most powerful moments during that conversation was the realization that here I was – the one who was so ashamed of him when he was drinking – having to face the reality that we had exchanged roles. I was filled with shame and remorse.

About a month later, on July 15, 2001, I made the decision that would change my life forever. I finally admitted to myself that I had a problem and that I had to do something about it. . And the first person I called that evening, was my father. I was crying, but also felt like a huge weight was off my shoulders. I will never forget his words “You don’t have to give me another birthday present for the rest of my life (his birthday had been the day before!)

Sobriety brought us even closer.  He would constantly tell me how proud he was of me (something I never remember from my childhood) and I can’t even count the number of times he said “You’ve come a long way, baby”! We were no longer hiding behind the alcohol – we were experiencing love, pure and simple – and it was because we were both sober.

Sobriety taught me many things – first and foremost, that alcoholism was indeed a disease – not a moral weakness. I also learned about compassion - that you could “love the person and not the disease”. I eventually realized that all those times I was embarrassed by my father’s drinking and behavior (and my own for that matter), it was actually the effects of the alcohol that I couldn’t stand – I had always loved the person underneath. 

In the fall of 2005, while I was visiting with my parents, my father told me he had a dream about his funeral – and that he had written the eulogy. When I asked him for details, he didn’t want to talk about it (we were still dancing around the whole death conversation). A few minutes later he said “Okay, I’ll tell you part of it – “My life has been like a baseball game – I had good innings, and bad innings, and I found God in the bottom of the ninth.”

 I was floored by this spiritual revelation from a man who did not attend church and never really talked about God.  It became apparent that as he moved closer to his own death, he had finally reached out and found what he needed to process this whole experience. Of course, what didn’t surprise me was the sports analogy – that was classic “Joe”.

My father passed a way a few weeks later. Losing “my hero” was devastating, but I found great comfort and solace in the fact that he had made a spiritual connection prior to his death. This helped immensely during the days and weeks that followed. Knowing that he had come to terms with his own mortality helped me in accepting it as well. It also helped me stay sober during this time. I had always thought that when my father died, I would have to get drunk. When that day did come six years ago today, I didn’t have the slightest desire to pick up a drink, which in itself was miraculous. I also knew that there wasn’t enough wine in California to take away the pain, and that drinking would just make it all worse.

 Not a day goes by that I don’t think about my father. Often I find it hard to believe that he has been gone this long – but I have so many wonderful memories of him, and they always bring a smile to my face.  I guess I have come to terms with his death, but I still miss him terribly. And I know it sounds funny coming from a girl who grew up hating sports, but oh what I wouldn’t give for a couple of extra innings with him…….