There’s a strain of addictiveness running through our family genetics.  My maternal grandfather started drinking during the early days of the Great Depression and crawled ever deeper into the bottle.  He lost everything except his wife and children. They spent the rest of his life taking care of him.  He died from a stroke, complicated by pneumonia when I was only a child.  Like twins, it skipped a generation and popped back up in my oldest brother.

Eddie discovered alcohol when he was barely into his teens.  As he got older, he stepped through the gateway to marijuana and pills.  He admitted freely that he had a problem with addiction.  In fact, one point of pride for him was the fact that he avoided cocaine.  He said he heard how addictive it was and knew, based on his history, it would hook him for life.  So, he just refused to try it.  One of my sons was unable to be that strong, he has served jail time for cocaine possession.  He’s been clean for more than 3 years now and he says he still craves it at times, so maybe Eddie was right.

Alcohol abuse is more accepted, but it can be just as destructive.  My brother never owned anything except his clothing, tools, and an old truck.  He loved kids, but never had any of his own.  In fact, he mostly lived with our parents his whole life.

He was fiercely loyal to his family and friends, he had a strong sense of honor.  Even at the worst of his addiction, he was reliable and always did all he could to keep his word.  He had a real talent for drawing, but no training.  He just dabbled with it, sometimes to amuse the children, at others just for himself.  He never tried to build it into anything for profit.  It may have been a private dream but, if so, he didn’t express it.

Instead, he painted houses and hung wallpaper all his life.  No matter how much he drank at night, he always got up and went to work the next day.  He might be mellowed out on pot before he got there, but his hand was so steady he could paint window trim without tape and never leave a spot on the glass.  Everyone knew he was the best and local contractors would gladly provide him with transportation back and forth to the job.  He didn’t get his driver’s license until he stopped drinking at the age of 47.

He died eleven years ago of liver failure made worse by a Hep C infection.  He was only 55 years old. If you didn’t know him,  didn’t know how much he was respected and loved, you’d think his life was wasted.  It wasn’t, it was just crippled.  He meant a lot to many people, but he could have been so much more.

Most of us have lesser addictions: over-eating (which he also had), gambling, smoking.  But the specter of alcoholism haunts us.  We fear it so much, that some of us expect anyone who takes an occasional glass of wine to eventually succumb.  We warn all our children to be careful because, “Alcoholism runs in the bloodline.” In spite of the warnings, they all drink, some with more control than others, because alcohol is so pervasive in our society.  Young people are actually pressured to over-indulge.  “Holding your liquor” is a requirement for acceptance at many levels of society.   I can only watch and pray that they will be able to control it, at least as well as Eddie did.

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