I have a headache, now. Just cuz a cold front is coming through. I've had horrible ER-worthy, stick a needle with steroids in my eye, bad, bad headaches all of my life. It took years for me to realize and finally admit to myself that drinking was a big contributor to these headaches, just as stress, sleep drprivation, skipping meals, messing with my normal sleep schedule...so many thingscan trigger this pain that rules my world. I gave up drinking eventually, not just due to headaches, but cuz, it's the company that you keep that blinds you to the obvious. All of my friends drank, the majority of my family drank, and I suddenly noticed that even though they insisted that drinking was their right & that they were enjoying themselves, everyone's drunken behavior suggested otherwise, including, when I drank, my own. Being with Bubba, who has never had a drink, helped me to see things in a different light. Designated driver's, drunken drivers, people puking on my table in a bar, puking in my car, puking out the window of a moving car, fighting, agressive, angry, stupid behavior with nothing but shame filled hangovers the morning after to show for the evening's frivolities. It just wasn't fun for me anymore. So, I quit.
I had quit my job to spend days taking care of my father & step-mother whose health was rapidly fading in their mid-seventies. St, Patrick's Day was always Dad's favorite holiday. We are German-Irish, and as he fought the German Nazi's in WW2, he dwelled on the Irish. He had green ties, hats, suits, even shoes. Dad played a wonderful piano & organ by ear all of his life. He started playing in bars when he was 16. He always had a gig for St. Patrick's Day, and I'm thinking it was 4 or 5 years ago that he had the St, Patrick's Day to end all St. Patrick's Days...literally.
He started partying with his friends the night before in excited anticipation as soon as I had left for the day. He wanted me to stay for a drink, but I declined, stressing for the umpteenth time that I just couln't be around drinking anymore. He never understood & it hurt his feelings, but it was the way I was and still am. He had been sneaking nips all day, & was drinking Scotch on the rocks when I left, knowing that I disapproved as he was on a blood thinner from a stroke a coupla yrs back. But he felt it was his right to drink, and no one was going to stop him. He had just ordered a case of Old Smuggler's from the local liquor store earlier the same day in defiance of us kids trying to run his life. Long story short, he had a great time & drank until he fell off his barstool and cracked his head on the floor. An ambulance took him to the ER & he was admitted over night for observation. Staff told him that he was 3 times the legal limit, and Dad's defense was that he wasn't driving, what was the big deal?
I took his wife to see him at the hospital the next morning. It was a cold & rainy day & my head was banging from the weather & the loss of sleep, as I had driven home & was called back to take care of her as he was in the hospital & she should not be alone medically, and psychologically, she has not ever been able to be alone. Dad was irritable & impatient when we came into his room. He had sobered up, and he had places to go and people to see, and music to play, on this, his favorite day of the year. Dad never missed a gig in his life & this day, he had 3 gigs scheduled. The MD discharged him with strict orders not to drive just in case he might develop a cerebral hemmorhage. It came to me, for awhile that day, to be his devoted daughter & driver. He had a van that he ferried his Hammond Organ to all of his gigs. The first one that day was a funeral. It was one of the departed lady's last wishes that Dad play at her funeral, and he was determined to do it. He instructed me on loading that organ(no small chore), tying it down, driving his wife to the funeral home then, I drove back to pick up the van & Dad & drive to the funeral, She always tried to go with him wherever he was playing. Mostly cuz she never trusted him, but that's another soap opera. My head was killing me, and Dad said he had a headace too, but that it was from the bump he got the night before.
Finally, the funeral was over. I loaded the van, took the folks to the house, drove back, picked up the van & drove it to the Knights of Columbus for his second gig. I wasn't used to loading the van, and a piece of equipment that was not properly secured, slid off the top of the organ, and bashed me in the back of the head at a stop sign, breaking the front window of the van. I was so pissed. What was so all fired important about playing gigs when you're a post CVA, early altzheimer's, weak and confused old man? He glossed it over with the old " Da show must go on," bit & I knew better than to try & argue with my stubborn Irish father on his favorite holiday. Besides, my head hurt. I got the van unloaded with some volunteers @ the K of C, turned around, drove back to Dad's, got his wheel chair bound wife & Dad into their Lincoln & then took them to the K of C. My head was splitting. Dad still had his headache, but claimed it was no big deal. Mokie Joe met Dad @ the K of C & loaded the van when they were done playing, and got them all to The Cozy for the final gig of the night, I made Dad promise me that he would not drink. To this day, I dunno if he kept that promise or not, but you see, the damage was already done from the night before, so it really does not matter. We, all of us, were in denial. I expressed my impatience to Mokie Joe & he assured me things would be fine & I could go home now. Everywhere I looked in the K of C people were drinking & having a great ol time, anxious for the music that Dad played for them, the music that made the experience so wonderful and complete. I was still new to not drinking, but joining the party was not an option. I'd had enough, & left for home.
The rest is heresay. I wasn't there. I dunno exactly what happened, I know that Dad kept playing at the Cozy even as his cerebral hemmorhage had him at a 45 degree angle. Nobody could see the forest for the trees. Most folks figured he was drunk again. Few knew about the bump & the hospital the night before. Many continued to watch him in denial of what they were seeing. My sister was at the Cozy with her husband, & they din't relize what was going down. Later, after the fact, there was much finger pointing and blame gaming among my family...it just is what it is. No one was to blame. Maybe those folks that make liquor & make slaves of our society are to blame. But it was just something that happened. Woulda, coulda, shoulda been different, but it wasn't. He wouldn't stop playing until the gig was over @ 2AM when he finally agreed to go back to the ER. He still has brain damage, five yrs later. The rehab was pure twilight zone, as is much of the present day experience. So, on top of multiple strokes, Alzheimer's, and now, bowel cancer, stage 3, he is living in a Hell of his own making, angry & sober in a nursing home of highly questionable quality. Yet still, anotheer soap oper for another time...
I am almost 55 yrs old. I know that in my past, I must've partied hearty at many a St Paddy's day party. I'm sure the hangovers were horrible & my head was killing me. But, you know, I cannot recall a single St. Paddie's Day celebration, except the one when my father almost died. And now, the joy of a drinking holiday escapes me. It just is what it is.
|
