Mowing his lawn, washing his prized Chevy van, sitting on his deck bird watching. I helped him in his mobile DJ business, promoting, preparing, setting up and rocking out with his clients, then tearing down. We worked so well side by side and he said so many times over. My heart was heavy with grief. I told him he knew where to find me if ever he wanted to say hi.
My heart has such a huge hole in it. Oh, it'll heal, this I know. But the interim is what is the hardest...the waiting for the healing to begin. Yet I release him with love, not bitterness. I've heard all the arguments about alcoholics, yet I loved him as unconditionally as I could. I took him to his visits with his probation officer, his treatment classes, but what good did it do? On the way home, he had me stop at liquor stores and he'd buy an 18-pack, popping the tab as soon as he closed the car door and consuming two cans in the ten miles it took to get him back home. He was addicted to his liquor, his self esteem low, his wife demanding, he lived off her money and knew his place. As long as he didn't interrupt her status quo, she was happy and he had a home in which to drink and be comfortable.
So, I move on. I have my writings to work on, my audios that he did to listen to, my books to promote.
Maybe in five years I'll look back and wonder what he's been up to. Until then, I'll just allow myself this time to grieve and push on.
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