As a mother myself, I often find myself longing for the comfort of my own mom. Life can be isolating, draining, and at times, deeply frustrating. There are moments when all I crave is the love and encouragement my mom used to provide, the reassuring voice that told me I was doing well and that everything would turn out fine.
I realize now that my parenting style is influenced by her example; she embodied unconditional love and understanding. Her main role was to offer acceptance and empathy, especially during our toughest moments. She handled the challenges of teenage years and sibling disputes with such poise. I remember her holding me through nightmares and allowing me to skip school occasionally just to spend time together. She always created a safe space for honesty, free from judgment or shame. Unfortunately, my children could have had the best grandmother, but her drinking habits stand in the way of that dream.
Her struggle with alcohol began when I was around nine. I have vivid memories of her darker moments. One day, after a long afternoon of play with friends, my brother and I asked her for a sleepover. Instead of a simple no, she flipped the recliner we were sitting in, shocking us with her unexpected aggression. That same year, her behavior tarnished our Easter celebrations, leaving me confused and upset.
It became clear that her drinking, which she often hid, was the source of her erratic behavior. The only signs were the harsh gaze in her eyes and her unpleasant demeanor. For years, I would only seek her company in the mornings, hoping to catch a glimpse of the mom I adored before she succumbed to her vices. Early on, she offered apologies for her behavior, but eventually, those too disappeared, and it became an unspoken truth that Mom had a drinking problem. Denial surrounded us, and the issue was never addressed directly.
Recently, she visited me for the first time in over a year and met my son, who has grown so much. I had mixed feelings about her visit, as her sober self is a delight, while her drunk self can be confrontational and unpredictable. When she’s sober, I can discuss everything from baby care to home décor with her. There was a moment when I accidentally broke a picture frame, and for once, I could turn to her for comfort. It was refreshing to hear her say, “It’s OK. We’ll get a new one.” I typically play the role of the caretaker, so being cared for felt wonderful.
During her visit, she mentioned moving here to help me with the kids while I returned to work. That sounded like a dream, but doesn’t she realize her drinking is the barrier? One morning, I left her with the kids while I ran errands, only to return and find her holding my baby in one arm and smoking a cigarette with the other, the smoke wafting toward him. I was frustrated, yet I couldn’t let her be their caregiver amid such behavior. I discovered a new bottle of wine opened in the kitchen, evidence that her drinking was still a problem. It’s disheartening, and I wish she understood that her choices keep her from being the grandmother my children deserve.
My disappointment often leads me to avoid her, just like many adult children of alcoholics. I skip family gatherings, not because I don’t care, but because I want my mother to know that I yearn for her presence. I want her sober self, the nurturing person who would enrich my life and support my children. It pains me to think she might believe I’m distant for selfish reasons when, in reality, it’s her drinking that creates this gap.
I sometimes reflect on my role in our relationship. Perhaps I should extend the same understanding and unconditional love she has always shown me. Maybe I should view her struggles as a lesson in compassion, but I often find it difficult to see past her vices. It feels childish, but I wish she would recognize that giving up drinking would mean more to our family than anything else.
As a mother now, I miss the sense of security I felt as a little girl when she was around. I want that feeling for my children too. They are missing out on her warmth, her delightful spoiling, and her gentle reminders that “they’re just kids.” I need her, and my children need their grandma, but her addiction stands as a barrier.
Conclusion
In conclusion, the journey of navigating a relationship with an alcoholic parent is filled with complexities. While I deeply love my mother, her struggles with alcohol keep us apart. I hope for a future where we can bridge this gap, allowing her to be the grandmother my children deserve.
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