Nobody ever told us that my son was drunk when he had an accident. It was when stories unfold I realized he was. Later some of his friends reluctantly admit he had a few shots, some completely deny being drunk at all. I cannot blame them. I know they were just trying to protect my son from the stigma and the notion that people who got drunk are bad. They know my son is not and so do I. He had a big heart, so easy to forgive and to forget. He is so fun to be with, so warm and accommodating. He can always make me laugh and made me cry as well.
His friends never realized I understand it. I know the disease that’s what I thought. Only to realize that I know too little about the monster that inhabits the soul of the son I love the most. Prejudice and ignorance is dangerous. I was a victim of both.
I have no idea if my son drinks a thousand shot since he had his first encounter with the booze. I didn’t even know when he starts. He was only 21; he could probably have taken not more than he should. But even if it is too little it had been too much for him.
This is something too hard to comprehend, that there are people who can’t just take a drink or two. Something my son wouldn’t agree. He is just having fun, everyone around is doing the same. Why can’t he? Probably now, he understands why.
It is not us who said so; it was God himself when he commanded Moses to give the following instructions to the people of Israel.
“Any of you, male or female who make a special vow to become a Nazirite and dedicate yourself to the Lord shall abstain from wine and beer” Numbers 6:2-3
It is the result of the latest research findings, that there are genes potentially at risk into developing the disease of alcoholism and the best way for them is to abstain.
How could I made him believe that we can’t just have it? Would it be possible if I talk to him effectively? If there were no aberrations between how we communicate with each other? If I am not loaded with emotions every time I am confronting his drinking? Would it be the same if I had been more expressive of my love for him? Would I deal with him differently if I really understand the disease the way I understand it today? These were the questions that I would never know the answer after I loss him. I failed somehow.
Doing things differently among the sibling he left would be the only way to make things right I hope. To accept that there is no way of changing the past and that I can only look forward in the future full of promises is a kindness I can give myself today while carrying the message that moderation is not for all, to some it is abstinence.