Give Me Just a Little More Wine

It is a worrisome road to go down. Charlotte questions my thinking.

Who wouldn't?

But I explain that some of the outrageous behavior could be more easily chalked off as par for the course if observed through the lense of alcoholism.

I tell Charlotte that with what I know now about J., I understand a lot of what baffled me earlier. All of the outrageous things he did. The secretive behavior. The things that did not add up. The peculiar hang ups. The slowness. The lapses. The health problems. The craziness.

Had I known he'd been drinking, all the overreacting would have been just as unpleasant, but I would have taken it far less personally. I would have taken far less of it, too.

Charlotte is having a hard time considering it. I suggest she think about it. Go on an Al-Anon website and get some information.  It could be very enlightening. I remember a co-worker who had no idea that she was in an abusive relationship until she was in the doctor's office one day. While sitting on the toilet hoping to eventually pee in the cup, she read a poster on the back of the stall door. It read, "Are You In An Abusive Relationship?" and then listed ten hallmarks of a relationship you should plan escaping.

She was shocked to learn that eight of the characteristics could easily be applied to her marriage. She eventually left her husband. Packed and flew the coop while he was at a Grateful Dead show.  

You just never know where your a-ha moment will come from. Charlotte gave me mine. A few years back as I boo-hooed in her kitchen one more time, she put down her spatula and looked me in the eye and said, "Liza, this is the third time this month you have been crying in my kitchen. Your children deserve a happier mother."  And within weeks I was on the road to divorce.

Not that we will divorce Mom. (Wouldn't that be handy?) But a little understanding might pave the way to managing better. And if it didn't feel so personal to be harassed and harangued because it could be blamed on something, wouldn't that make a difference? 

Charlotte is still skeptical. It is an admittedly bitter pill to have to think about swallowing.

But I look at the clock and tell her what I think. It is 5 pm.  We've been on the phone for an hour. (I've driven home and Scott and his kids have removed the groceries from my car. I am still in my seat belt.)  So her call with Mom took place sometime between 3 pm and 4 pm. It is Saturday. What are the chances that she hadn't thrown back her first couple of White Zinfandels? 

Absolutely none.

I am not sure what Charlotte did with this information. Maybe she filed it away to review when the next battle erupts.  I can only say that it makes sense to me, and how we fight our battles with Mom is entirely a personal matter.