The Bottle in the Closet
was losing weight. He started drinking Chardonnay from a box in the morning to take the edge off his body aches. His knee hurt almost all the time, probably flashbacks of his childhood polio.
His daughter and her family came to visit now and again, and he could keep it under wraps for them. He was starting to think he might have a problem, but he just had to be strong and overcome it, like he had survived pneumonia before penicillin, he had survived polio during the early 50s epidemic, and he had served in the military.
He didn't feel quite right but he left after Thanksgiving for his winter condo in Arizona. By Christmas he was coughing up or vomiting blood every day. He quit smoking but felt no better.
On New Years Day his daughter called, and again on January 9th they talked again.
Almost every week they talked for an hour but he couldn't stop coughing on January 9th.
"Daddy, I'm calling you back tomorrow. If you arent' any better you get to a doctor. I know you don't like doctors but this is bad."
He slept restlessly with cold, frightening night sweats. He was hallucinating. The days blended into one long nightmare. He vomited blood in the sink, the toilet.
On January 17th he was found on the floor of his bathroom, having vomited blood from his bed to the sink, and having died some 36 hours previous. He was 63.
This man was not the town drunk. He was a kind man who loved God and sang his praises at church. He was a counselor who helped many people turn their lives around. He was a friend whose absence has left a gaping hole in two communities, not to mention a family who still cries at the mention of his name. He was a survivor of many obstacles who was remembered as a gifted educator.
He was remembered for his service to his country and to his fellow man, and received full military honors where the American Legion expressed the thanks of a grateful nation and handed me a folded American flag.
He was my dad.
He was a closet, "functional" alcoholic.
If you see your loved one in the story above, someone with a loving "normal" home who seems to need a drink to go with it, don't turn away, don't say, "it couldn't be."
I thought it was impossible until I learned that my father died a
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