I had this totally funny conversation with my son today.
Let me preface the story by saying that my son is not always very good at accepting change. If we so much as throw away a pillow case, because it is threadbare, he can at times cry and beg for it to come back...That said, when I got sick over the summer and my liver was giving me trouble, my son was pretty freaked out. He was afraid that I might die. He had reason to be worried as I had never been so sick in either of our lifetimes. Obviously he never complained when I had to give up lots of things for the health of my liver. I quit smoking once and for all, and drinking coffee. I stopped eating meat and of course all the alcohol. My son never objected to this of course, but he also barely acknowledged this too.
Today I bought my kid a hot dog on the street. He told me that he loved meat so much and if it weren't for all the animals that had to get killed, he would eat meat all the time. Meat, he said, was one of his favorite things in the world. Then he said he wished that I would start eating meat again. And drinking coffee. He said he really missed the old me that used to be so much fun and funny when I was drinking coffee.
He said I was always good to be around when I had some coffee.
So I asked him if he missed anything else. Beer, he said. He actually said he missed my beer drinking and missed when I used to drink beer all the time and be really fat...Apparently I was a lot of fun for him back then, too.
Well listen. I know better than all that and I am taking my son's comments for exactly what they are worth. I am not running out to get a pack a cigarettes anytime soon to see if there is any magic left there too. But it did give me a remarkable moment of satisfaction and solace. I mean since I've stopped drinking I keep on telling myself that I was a pretty good drunk. It helps me to romanticize these things as I try to move on. I was just really happy to hear that my son can romanticize this part of my old life too. It really means a lot to me to not to have to look back all the time and regret. I keep on telling myself that even my bad ideas and actions seemed like good ones, at least at the time that I thought of them. Now I get to move forward pretty gracefully, at least as far as he is concerned.
DK
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6 comments:
nice post
u r blog Is very nice
so complicated but so clear, isn't it? thanks for writing--don't stop--makes my sobriety a bit simpler.
I loved this story. Thank you for putting it here. I'm married to a wonderful guy, but it hasn't always been easy. A guy who drank a 12pack each night, just to feel normal. He stopped on his own, but I, too, went thru some of what your son speaks of. When he drank, my husband was so relaxed, free to speak, while otherwise socially phobic, sexy, lovey and a bunch of other things. He quit on his own, and the last several years have had some pretty tough times. A touchy temper arose because he had a hard time facing conflict in his life, when before, he could just escape it. Arguments over nothing. Me walking on eggshells...alot of un-ease for my husband. Just trying to be comfortable in his skin...At times, I've missed the old him...but through alot of fire, he's made so much of his life. As the years go by, he seems more able to enjoy being sober and seeing life for what it is, disappointments and all. He's learning to deal with conflict. It isn't always pretty, but he's doing it and making strides. I don't want this to come out wrong, but I'm so proud of him. He took the more difficult road and he's ok. I've loved him, no matter who he was. But our love is deeper now, I guess, because it's coming from a solid place. I'm very grateful that he's making it.
Ah, being a grown-up parent & artist, (at least on the outside) I get this. It made me remember, laugh and feel a little better about my self and my parenting. Your son sounds so much like mine, who is also eight. He has several tiny pieces of food in a sandwich bag in the freezer that he could not bear to throw away.
Thanks for this writing. Keep on, o.k.?
Loving blog.
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