Every summer as a kid I visited my grandmother Marion and her husband Bruce in southern Canada. I had a few cousins my age. Laura and I would pick fresh raspberries from the bush in the backyard and smother them in heavy cream. We’d go raspberry picking and eat half and the rest my grandmother would make into raspberry jam. We’d go sometimes to the skylon tower restaurant and spin around niagra falls. They had the best asparagus soup. We’d go to “the cottage”, where my other cousins lived near and they’d come visit. It would be freezing cold in the summer and I thought they were crazy for swimming. Grandma would have Werthers caramels in the center console of the car for the ride. My Grandmother turns 90 this month. She walked, ate healthy. But she drank, heavily, every day of her life. I don’t remember anyone ever mentioning alcoholism. And as much as I love my grandmother, she is an alcoholic. Please, please, please, for the love of god.
Tell your loved ones if they drink too much. Many don’t know. Or are in denial.
Or say nothing. And take them to one AA meeting. And see if it hits.
Because I think about my partner, and if I hadn’t asked him to just attend that one zoom AA meeting.
How different our lives would be.
I love that man to the moon and back.
And every day I am so damn proud of him.
And I wish someone had told my grandmother 50 years ago.
Laughs and Lobotomies 