I slowly unlocked the door; silently saying a Hail Mary that daddy wasn’t passed out on our sofa like he usually was. I never really did stop hoping. It was all that was getting me through the days. I walked through the doors and knew by the quiet stench of booze that my daddy was asleep. Not asleep, passed out. I sighed, set down my backpack, and went to check on my daddy. He was on the sofa like usual, bits of paper, a photo of my mother on their wedding day, dirty plates, and beer bottles spread around him in his cocoon of sadness.
I grabbed a blanket and wrapped it around his sleeping form. He had been this way ever since my mamma died nearly two years ago. Honestly, I hurt and missed her as well but we have to move on. It is what she would have wanted. And it wasn’t like he was alone, he had me. Didn’t he love me? If he did he sure didn’t show it. He relied on me for everything and it was hard doing the job of two people, on top of being a senior in high school. Plus I was still grieving mom too, and now was grieving the deterioration of my father. He was like a new man, my father was. He would lash out at me, hateful words spewing out of his mouth. He told me I was a mistake, a waste of space and that I deserved to die, not my mom. Sometimes he would just sit and sob. It broke my heart to see my daddy sob like a babe. When he cried, it was worse than the anger.
At first dealing with his rapid decent into alcoholism was hard, but by now it was just a difficult routine, leaving me with only five hours sleep, tops. I would walk home from school, put a blanket over my daddy on the sofa, go to work, after work do my homework, clean the house, start fixing dinner, try to convince him to get cleaned up for dinner, and over dinner once every week, hand my dad a flyer from the AA. When I would hand the flyer, he would usually stalk to his bedroom, start the drinking and the cycle would repeat itself. The only way I got through my days was remembering that Lord doesn’t ever give you more than you can handle. With hope, prayers, and hard work, I could bloom into something great. Hopefully along the way I would gain my daddy again.
My mom’s life insurance money was running out fast. I already had a part-time job at Leaky Pete’s Grill, but even with no cable and only one landline jack, we were still hurting. We needed groceries, money to pay the electric and water bills, and then there was my daddy’s rather expensive habit. Earlier on in his alcoholism, after he had been fired from his construction job, I had poured his liquor down the drain, but soon I leaned not to bother. He would buy more and it just ended us costin’ more. When I did the math, I figured we had about three months’ worth of money left before we were flat-out broke. I could always work full time. I had already been offered a job being a full-time waitress but if I had a full time job that would mean no school. I needed school. I was in my senior year. I would do it though, if it came to that.
I quietly shuffled over to my daddy’s sleeping form. Gently I rubbed his shoulder, and he awoke with a start. “Daddy, it’s almost time for dinner. Go take a shower and comb your hair. Don’t forget to brush your teeth too.” He mumbled a compliant answer and started moving toward the bathroom door, pausing only to pick up the tattered picture of Mom. I was surprised; he nearly always ignored my instructions to anything. This had to be a sign from above! Tonight I would give him the flyer again. Maybe today was the day he would finally seek help.
I started working on cooking the pasta for dinner. I didn’t mind cooking at all. After my momma had died, it made me feel close to her again, by smelling the smells of cooking. It was what she always smelled like. Thanks to her I could cook better than anyone I knew, if I did say so myself. She had loved this kitchen. We had painted the walls sunny yellow after she had been diagnosed with cancer. She said that if she was “going kick the bucket she was at least going to have the kitchen color she always wanted!” That was just the way she was, always cheerful and so full of life. I missed her every moment of every day.
I had just begun to drain the pasta when I felt someone hug me from behind, pulling me out of my musings. My dad stood looking very sober and clean for once. When would the miracles cease? “Hello Papa, set the table would ya?” I was surprised my voice didn’t crack with my withheld emotions. Amazed, I quickly finished draining the pasta and scooped some onto each plate.
We ate in silence- no surprise there. What exactly do you say to your alcoholic father sober for now but probably suffering from a hangover? And what do you say to your daughter who is your caretaker? When I made a move to pick up the plates though, my dad grabbed my wrist. Startled, I looked into his cool blue eyes. “Honey,” he looked as if he was searching for what to say. “Honey, I um... I was looking at those pamphlets you gave me.”
“The AA ones?” I said ignoring his flinch when I had said “AA.”
“Err yes. Those ones. I was hoping maybe we could go to the next meeting? Together? Daddy-daughter date? You don’t have to if you don’t want to…” He cast his eyes down, defeated and dejected looking, trying his hardest not to meet my eyes.
“I would love nothing more. There is one tonight actually, six o’clock. We should go before you lose your nerve.” I spoke firmly and calmly, but felt more hopeful than I had in weeks.
My daddy left the room; clearly he had used up his emotions for the day. I ran to the liquor cabinet. It was empty. In the place where the Jack Daniels usually sat was a framed picture of momma and me during my toddler years. There was a post-it note with the words “just say no” on it. What was this, an after school special or alien involvement?
I walked over to my room, brushed my hair, and grabbed my stash of candy. I had been to countless AA meetings before, looking for an answer for my daddy, and knew that when people started crying you took out the sugar. Sugar always helped lighten the mood and provide comfort. I suspected when I saw Ralph tonight, I would be crying my eyes out that my daddy had finally wised up.
Ralph was our local AA manager. He ran the AA meetings and I had relied on him more than I would care to admit. Even thought my daddy never had gone to an AA meeting, I had gone to the family and friends of alcoholics support groups that AA ran. Ralph called me his granddaughter. At age 57, eleven years ago, he had finally crushed his monster of an addiction. In the process of his battle with alcohol, he became estranged with all his family. Since he became sober, he began a crusade against alcoholism. He had helped twenty-three people become sober, and countless members of their family. Ralph was the closest thing to a friend I had at the moment, and had promised me that he would personally help my father when he wanted to quit.
“Madeline? Are you ready to go?” My daddy was in my doorway, in fresh clothes and looking determined.
“Yes sir. I’ll drive.”
The ride to church basement was uneventful and quiet. My palms were sweating with nerves. What if my dad didn’t like Ralph? What if he decided he could crush alcoholism without the support group? What if he decided that he didn’t really have a problem and begin to drink again? There are millions of variables that could lead to more heartache. I had been waiting for this moment for so long, I wanted it to be perfect. But perfection does not and will never exist. As we drove closer my daddy got tenser, until his shoulders were scrunched up by his ears. The silence between us was so thick and uncomfortable I could almost cut it with a knife. I gently took my daddy’s hand in mine, offering comfort to him just like he used to do to me back when my mom was still alive. He shook it off coldly.
As soon as I had thrown the car in park, my daddy jumped out, and took off—away from the church basement. I felt an icy fist grab my heart and squeeze. My thoughts were hazy with sadness and disappointment. I called Ralph, told him what happened, drove home and climbed in bed. I then cried until tears stopped coming out and heaving sobs wracked my body. Gradually I drifted to a fitful sleep. I dreamed of my mother’s arms around my body, comforting me.
*****
I woke up to the annoying sound of my alarm clock. I had about three seconds of peace before I the events of last night came rushing back. I fell back onto the bed. I was sick of this. I cannot handle this alone. I turned on my side, facing my nightstand. My mother’s picture smiled back at me. Oh momma, I don’t even know where daddy is right now. I didn’t see him come home last night. Is he at a bar? I am sick with worry. Every day I come home sick with worry. Is this what you expected to happen to us after you left us? Do you think of us, wherever you are? Can you see us? Are you proud of me? Am I doing the right thing, momma? I got no response to my questions. What would have my mother have done if she was in my situation? She would have loved my father, but understood that she couldn’t fix him. She would have loved my father but understood that she needed to take care of herself first. I love my father and understand that I cannot fix him. But I haven’t been taking care of myself. I have been preoccupied with caring for him. I have been skipping homework, school sometimes even. I am done. No more will I deal with him. I am not going to be a nice anymore. He can pick up his own bottles. I am not going to cook, clean, or do anything for him! When he figures out his problem, then I will help. Until then, I don’t owe him anything.
I braced for the guilt but it didn’t come. I felt relived. Lighter. Hell, I feel free! No more will I be anchored. I could actually have a social life again. I could join clubs, enjoy life! School could be fun again.
*****

It was the easiest day I had ever had since mom died. I sat with my friends at lunch and actually participated in the conversation. My friends had forgiven me for basically ignoring them the last two years when I told them I was grieving and wasn’t ready to talk. We made plans (plans!) for this weekend to hang out at the mall, maybe even watch a movie. And I didn’t feel a bit guilty for choosing my own path. I had finally become my own person. I was free from having my life be ruled by my father’s addiction.

Epilogue: Six Years Later

“We are the lions! The mighty, mighty lions! Go team go!” I chanted, along with the football stadium. I was at our state college, drinking in every glorious moment. My dad had been had been arrested for drunk driving last year and was now in a mandatory rehab center. I had visited him in rehab, and he seemed miserable but according to the staff, he was trying fairly hard, and had admitted to his problem. Ralph was his sponsor and doing his best to keep him sober. Though I missed dad, I knew this was for the best. He was getting the help he so desperately needed. Hopefully with a little luck he would recover and I could be part of his life again.
As for me? I was free. I was finally, finally free.