A broken heart won't kill you

This would be yet another test. He called asking for a ride. He had been in the hospital. I knew the mess I would be getting myself in if I came to his rescue. For hours he kept calling, saying he was waiting for me. I imagined this frail old man sitting outside the hospital. My heart being wired the way it is, I finally broke down and went to pick him up. He was weak, could barely walk, was wearing heavily soiled clothes and smelled like he had slept in a barn. I took him home with me. He was in pain, extremely weak and dirty. Although my dad was the one to call me to tell me he was in the hospital, it would take me doing some research to find out what had happened. According to the EMT who drove him from another town, he was brought in the night before. It seemed that he had drank so much, he fell, was knocked unconscious and was taken to the hospital. Given the people he was surrounded by during this time period, the story left more questions than answers. Once I got him home, what came next was humbling for both of us…I helped him get undressed and then I lifted this frail old man that I barely recognized into the bath tub. I allowed him to do his best to wash himself on his own then came back to lift him out of the tub. I dressed him in clean clothes like he was a child… his skin was covered in marks, bites, I'm not sure. I prepared him food and attempted to figure out what the next move was. I called my younger brother...

I will interject at this point, if there are any silver linings through these experiences with my father, it would be that it provided an opportunity for my younger brother and I to bond stronger than we probably would have otherwise. Through these past several years of challenges with our father, my little brother has been there to help me navigate through the chaos. He struggled as much I did, but he always showed up and was a my rock when we had to make tough decisions.

Years of experience had made one thing clear, my father could NOT stay with me. Another thing was clear, he had nowhere to go. My brother stepped in to help. He came to my house and some how we managed to find the strength to confront our dad. My brother talked about his drinking, but as we knew he would, he denied having a problem. In fact, he denied that he drank at all (a typical alcoholic's response). My brother was also not willing to take him home with him. Here we were with a frail old man, no one wanted responsibility for. I only had one option and despite how much it hurt, the emotional wall I had built up around this part of my heart was strong. I had discovered this side of me that was forced to become callous and cold. I gave my brother $100 (a luxury I really didn't have at the time), we called a couple hotels and I told him to take him wherever $100 would get him a night or two. After that he was on his own. I will say, $100 for more than one night will land you in a place most of us would never consider staying. When they left, after I had picked my dad up, fed him, bathed him, washed his clothes and shelled out money for a hotel, he left my home without a goodbye or a thank you. This was yet another example of how selfish the disease makes you. It seems, this disease doesn't just change the alcoholic, it changes those around them....