Page 48 of Husband of the Year
There’s more to share about the current situation, but I’ll save that for a phone call. And I’d like to write to you more. It’s almost like you’re here with me in my childhood bedroom, which my mother has redecorated to create a more palatable, neutral guest room.
Being away from you makes my heart ache in a way that’s new for me. I’m caught up in the situation’s chaos here, but when there’s a lull, a moment of quiet, and my thoughts wander to you, my chest pounds. I quickly realized it’s a product of us being apart. I’m a ship, lost at sea, searching for the lighthouse to bring me home… to you.
But my presence here is necessary. I need you to know why it’s imperative I’m here. For Liam. For my parents.
Step Nine.
We haven’t spoken about the steps in depth, but I also know you have a basic understanding of them from your mother’s recovery. Step Nine asks that we make direct amends to those we’ve harmed through our addiction—unless doing so would cause them further suffering.
After I completed my stint in rehab, I knew I had to speak with my parents. My sponsor at the time, a kind older gentleman named Fred, helped me write a script to assist me with speaking to them. But when I invited them to visit me in rehab, only my father came. He apologized profusely for my mother’s absence, but I quickly understood that my amends would have to be delivered individually—and differently for each of them.
The conversation with Dad went well. He was receptive and loving. He’s a quiet man, so his lack of words didn’t trouble me. His eyes told me he was listening, taking my apology to heart. He gave me one of his patented bear hugs and whispered in my ear, “I love you, son. Be patient with your mother.”
When I departed rehab and went to visit her, I had a new script my sponsor helped me craft. Apprehensive at her reaction, the nerves in my stomach bubbled and churned, but like all aspects of recovery, the only way through was one step at a time.
I arrived for lunch on a day I knew Dad would be volunteering at the library. He reads to a blind man he met on the bus. Phil took Dad’s bus every day for years, and they struck up a friendship that lasted long after Dad’s retirement.
Mom made her famous meatloaf. The secret ingredient is cornflakes, but if it ever comes up, please don’t tell her I’ve told you. Let the woman have her secret. Her recipe calls for vodka, but she informed me she could replace it with tonic water, which she thought would have the same impact. With my script memorized, I anxiously sat at the kitchen table, eyeing the steaming meatloaf as I waited for the perfect moment to speak.
When Mom dished out coleslaw and asked if I wanted one or two biscuits, I took it as my opportunity to speak. But as soon as I began, she interrupted me.
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“It” being the disease of alcoholism.
By this time, Liam had already gotten into trouble a few times in high school for drinking. Caught with empty bottles under his bed. Skipping school to party with his buddies. Mom’s brother,Uncle Danny, was an alcoholic his entire life and never got help before he passed. Alcoholism hits a raw nerve with Mom—it was too much to discuss. I savored each bite of my meal, knowing this was one way my mother expressed her love. When we finished, I pulled her into a tight hug, uncertain how I would ever make proper amends.
I called my sponsor immediately. Fred asked how the lunch had gone, and when I told him how Mom had shut me down, he reminded me that Step Nine isn’t about one speech. One lunch. One interaction. It’s a continual occurrence. He reminded me there are two definitions of amends: one is to repair, and the other is to change. It wasn’t only my job to restore what I’d taken from my mother—her peace of mind about her son—but also to change my behavior.
At that moment, my higher power spoke to me and told me exactly what I needed to do: be the best son I could be for my mom. Since then, I have strived to do that, honoring the path she offered. Being home now, not only for Liam and my dad but also for Mom, who is struggling the most, is part of my living amends. It wouldn’t happen in a single speech, but would be a lifelong journey for us.
I hope this helps you understand why I need to be here. Again, there’s much more to say, but my fingers and body need a rest.
Being away from you and Illona crushes me. She’s growing up so fast, but will always be my little girl.
And you’re my guy—not so little. You will always be mine. Always.
Now, my guy, I should get some sleep. But here’s a quick lesson for you first.
“My Guy” by Mary Wells. Did you know Smokey Robinson wrote Mary’s signature hit? Yes, he wasn’t only The Miracle’s lead singer, but an accomplished songwriter. Can you imagine the royalties?
If you listen carefully to the lyrics, you’ll hear the song isn’t a simple platitude toward her man, but she’s rejecting an advance from someone else in an affirmation of her fidelity to her true love. He’s her soulmate, despite others thinking he may be simply average. There’s nothing average about him. Or you.
Now, my most adorable guy, I’m off to sleep.
I love you. I love you. I love you.
Olan
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Marvin: Good morning, handsome. That was some email. Thank you. I love you.
Olan: My pleasure. Expect more. My guy.
“My Marvin pillow.” Illona’s sweet face smooshes against my side on the bus to school.
From the first day she took my hand in class over two years ago, she’s been affectionate with me. Living together has only increased her warmth, but now, with Olan gone, something has shifted. It might be in a different capacity, but she misses her father as much as I do. Children need their mothers, but they also need their fathers. This is especially true when that father is one of the sweetest, most loving dads on the planet.
