Homecoming

I entered the world every parent dreads last week when my, 31 year old son moved home. Just as I was starting to enjoy the idea of being an “empty nester”, I had to empty one bedroom of my “projects” to make room for my sons office equipment. My baby boy who has lived a lifetime of lifetimes in his short 31 years, with children of his own, debt, sorrow, heavy problems, attempted suicides and now a pending divorce.
So we have a totally white trash look going on at the house. A beat up 1983 Blazer snow plow parked out in front of the house with an extension cord going up the driveway, plugged into the garage  – you know, to keep it from freezing. An upstairs window screen torn and dangling off the window, where the boys climb in and out of the upstairs – when they get locked out. My broken dryer is out on the curb waiting for the Salvation Army to pick it up and of course the garbage cans are out there in the street because no one will pull them up to the garage after trash day… it’s easier to just take the garbage out to the can. And now, the trailer with my son’s furniture is out there next to the snow plow and the broken dryer with a blue tarp strung over it. Oh I forgot, we have his mattress propped up on the front porch waiting to go to the storage unit! I feel like we are “Ma and Pa Kettle.” To make the picture complete, imagine yesterday, when we were moving his refrigerator, a big bag of frozen trout fell out of the freezer and our dog got it and started to “play” with it and drag it all over the yard… dead, frozen trout.
Our neighbors hate us…  At least we don’t have a broken down truck up on blocks in the driveway… I wonder if they can they see the “butt bucket” where my son flicks his cigarettes…
Is the move home good or bad ? I’m sure the “tough love” proponents would have plenty to say and I suppose I will have changing opinions along the way. Today, despite the inconvenience of it all and the fact that yesterday I had to tell him, he couldn’t be a smelly, drunken bum living in my house and to go take a shower ( after 4 days of not showering)… it’s a good thing for him to be home. A fresh start.
15 years ( yes, do the math) of abusing alcohol and drugs have led to the break up of his marriage, although she loves to booze and abuse as well… and is not blameless in the demise of this relationship, he seems to have had suffered a greater affect on his physical, emotional and spiritual life.
Their house was a disaster, broken down, unkempt, they have lost it to foreclosure, because buying booze is a better waste of his money and more “enjoyable” than paying bills…the two of them have had to move out. She went to her parent’s house and he came home to the house of his childhood. It’s too long a story to drag out in this forum but lets just say, it is a classic case of his fault, her fault…each pointing fingers and neither being responsible for their part in the marriage.
My beloved first born is the poster child for self- destruction at it’s finest and she takes pleasure in thumb-tacking him to the wall, with a drink in one hand and a hammer in the other..
Where does the word booze come from? It has such a low class sound to it, which I suppose is appropriate. Here is what I learned.
The word has been around since the fourteenth century. It comes from the Middle Dutch verb busen, meaning to drink heavily, and first appeared in English as a verb spelled bouse. This is from a manuscript dating to around 1325:
Hail ?e holi monkes…Late and raþe ifillid of ale and wine! Depe cun ?e bouse. (Hail the holy monks…Slowly and before long filled with ale and wine! Deeply can they booze.)
And from Spenser’s 1590 The Faerie Queene, I.iv.22:
And in his hand did bear a bouzing can, Of which he supt so oft, that on his seat His dronken corse he scarse upholden can.
Folklore has it that this term for liquor comes from a Philadelphia distiller named E.C. Booz who prospered around 1840 by selling a popular spirit in bottles shaped like a log cabin. This is not correct. In addition to the British citations dating back to the fourteenth century, it has been in use in America since the early eighteenth century. Benjamin Franklin used the term boozy from 1722 and Noah Webster’s 1828 dictionary has entries for boose and bouse meaning “to drink hard; to guzzle,” and for boosy meaning “a little intoxicated; merry with liquor.” ( wordorigins.org)
After his wife had visited yesterday with their 5 year old son, my son had said, what a relief to have her gone because “it’s like juggling and my arm is tired from balancing all those balls – I just want to be me…” He promptly went to his room to drink. Oh, ouch, my heart aches and aches for him.
Where is the sweet, bright, energetic, creative genius my little boy started out to be?
Does he really understand the counterfeit feeling of calm and relief that the alcohol gives him? That it isn’t real, that it is a cover-up. He says, he likes the cover-up feeling… it doesn’t hurt and since he can’t “kill himself”, being plastered is the next best thing to being dead.
I will never forget learning about his attempted suicide in 2006 and how scared I was for him and now I am flooded with those same feelings and I’m thinking to myself – “don’t you dare – pull that on me “. I told him if he tried that nonsense again, I would kick his trash through all eternity – it’s just a lousy excuse for not taking responsibility for your life and only he can change that. I can’t imagine how painful it must be to actually feel that way!  How can he know what’s real and what’s not.
Empathy I can have… And then we talked about having a plan to get help.  He has to want to change and give up his dependence on alcohol.  He has to want to live.
IT’s easier to accept the help of others when you are not alone and isolated and I believe the best place for him to take these baby steps to healing and better health is to be at home where he has people around him, where the windows are bright and sun filled, where there is laughter and energy. A home where he is loved and encouraged to be his best and where his children can come to and not worry about the drunken violence and dark dreariness of the home they left.
Step by step, his goliath can be overcome and conquered but it will take time… I remember my Mom had said years ago; “just think about how long it takes for a ship to turn around in the night.”  Home is safe and we have Guitar Hero and a big TV in the basement, where the boys gather to “rock and roll” (that would be my adult boys!) My Husband says, “Whatever brings the family together…” and his brothers won’t put up with his garbage – they will tell him how it is and then be there for him.
Happiness runs in our family and by golly, I will fight to  keep it that way, loving and forgiving and being grateful for every minute that teaches us what’s really important and to stick together! I always told my son when he was young, that no one will ever love you like your family and they will be the ones in the end who stand for you and that is just the way it will have to be in my house for awhile…. Playing guitar hero!