It is

It is what it is and I can't change it.

That's my mantra and I'm usually pretty good about it when it comes to my parents. It wasn't easy or fast- in fact it took many years. I've never been in formal therapy- except for myself- but as I get older I think more about it.

Growing up, my father was a drunk. I suppose a prettier word is and alcoholic. In my head he was a typical construction worker guy. I thought construction workers were all the same, he and his buddies were. After work he would have drinks with his buddies, especially Friday's. He always had beer or vodka at home. He has had some sober years, after I left the house, but now his drinking is much more unpredictable

I have many and various memories of him getting physically intrusive and abusive with my siblings, cousins, and me, after he had been drinking. He commonly drove drunk, sometimes with us in the car. Once, in eighth grade, at a school dinner/carnival function, he shit his pants and had to ride home hanging on to the window of the pickup, standing on the outer step. Another time he drove up to his family cabin to join his brother, sister and families and me- I was old enough to drive myself and had spent a few days by myself before the other family members arrived. He pulled in, in his El Camino and stumbled into the cabin, slurring, lazy, droopy eyes, saying hi. His sister quickly sat him down to a meal where he proceeded to droop his head and fall into his food. I watched. He stirred himself and began to ramble about going into town to get more beer. His siblings and spouses did nothing. I told him no and struggled to get his keys out of his pants pocket, convincing him to lay down for a while. After, I went to the car and took out the nearly gone 6 pack and the empties. I checked on him and found that he had peed on himself in his sleep... My aunts and uncles avoided me and we never spoke of it.

Fun times.

I can replay these scenes over and over again. The colors of his El Camino, the cans on the seat, his wobble, the looks from his siblings, my little cousins watching, my uncle steering them out of the room, the trees around the cabin, the stillness, the chaos in my head and the need to take care, while despising the acts of helping as well as the 'adults' disgust, yet lack of action.

So many other scenes play.

My parents love each other. I know they do. It is obvious to me and to others- sometimes I don't understand why my mother didn't leave him and then I know- she loved him and still does. Dependence, co-dependence, whatever. They'll celebrate 50 years next April. I celebrate their marriage as well. The family they raised, their commitment to one another. Thick and thin, good times and bad, and all that. They've done it.

My mother- she has her faults too.

Don't we all???

My parents are in town this weekend. Arrived yesterday around 3:00 and will leave on Monday morning. My mother was asked to be the god mother of my cousin's newest baby. My parents are staying with Käri's mom- she has extra space, so do we. They never stay with us when they come to town. Too much for my father to deal with. The noise, the chaos. Really, can't blame him (or anyone) for that. Yet, I see in my mother the desire to hang out and play with the kids, swimming, visiting, playing. When she visits by herself she does stay with us and spends all her time with us. Usually, when they both come, they stay with my aunt and uncle and spend most of their time with them.

I anticipate their arrival each time, with a mixture of excitement, anxiety, and dread. I would like my kids to have a relationship with them. A positive relationship. It was one of the reasons we moved back to California. And yet, I wait. ( Yesterday, I had to have a little ativan to help me wait) Will my father be drinking, will my mother be anxious about his drinking, will it be tense, will he be physical in his jokingly intimidating way, with my children, will he run to the store for some more tortilla chips and return drunk (it's been done before- once with my two year old son in the car...), will I have the guts to tell him to get out of my house and if I do will he ever return?

They have just left my house. They were here for about five hours yesterday evening, my mother came at noon today (my father had been golfing and came 30 minutes or so after her). Mom slept in this morning and hung out with Käri's mother before she came over. They left a bit after 2:00. We won't see them again until they are on their way out of town Monday morning. My mom played and went swimming with the kids while she was here. When my dad arrived he was fine. Thirty minutes later, not so much- he went into the house by himself to make a sandwich, when he emerged a few minutes later he appeared to be drunk, blurry confused, wobbly, softer... Did he find the vodka? I looked for evidence- refused to smell his breath (cuz yeah, you can smell it don't let anyone tell you you can't- although, I am an expert on smelling it and recognizing drunk symptoms. I can also count drinks like nobody's business- talents of growing up with a drunk). My mom got out of the pool and within forty five minutes they were gone. I spoke to my mom over my fathers head- just like when you are with a child- told her not to worry about it.

It is what it is, right?


Edited: In response to Process... My children are never left in my father's care, and in fact ,as a family, we have only been to my parents house a handful of times in the last ten years. I have spent time with my folks, with one child at a time, for a few nights, so my mother can get a grandchild fix. I am always with them and on guard.

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