Milcic1
Julie Milcic
Mr. Kozak
English II/ 6th Hour
October 10, 2012
Drinking and Drinking and Drinking
“Tina, you gotta– coughing- you gotta– more coughing- come get the babies –dry hacking-“. My mother answered the phone.
“Kathy? Kathy what’s wrong?” The line went dead.
Sadly enough this was one of the last things we heard out of Aunt Kathy’s mouth.
I remember a time in my life when everything was peaceful, quiet, and loving. Parents, grandmas’, godfather, godmother, aunts, uncles, cousins… Everyone was happy, healthy, and together. But then something happened that would change every relationship I had with my family forever.
My aunt was always happy when the alcohol came out. My mom told me once about a time she had gotten so drunk that she actually hit my godfather, her husband, across the face and left a bruise. The only negative thing about her was the alcohol. She was a bright, sunny day in the midst of gray, overcast, cloudy days. I can still hear the sound of Martina McBride’s Bring on the Rain drifting through the open windows of St. Paul’s Churchyard’s office/house, as my sister and I played in the large bush in the main yard and the swing in the side yard. There was a pink “Play House”, I guess you could call it that, that held the few treasures my aunt had left of her childhood to someday pass down to her children. A dream mis-lived. My sister and I would sneak in there and play for hours with the ancient toys. At least, until she would see us and shoo us out.
I barely saw my godfather when we were there and at six years old, I was fine with that. Aunt Kathy was enough to entertain two rambunctious kids all by herself.
But that was all fun and games.
And those games, much like the games the Aztecs used to play, wouldn’t last forever.
We never saw her drink, my sister and I, but that doesn’t mean she didn’t… That just meant she was careful about it. My sister and I were too young to remember just how drunk she could get. My godfather did though. He knew how bad it was getting with her.
Now that I think back on it. They both were drunks. Both couldn’t help but take little sips on the bottle when preparing us lunch or dinner. Both couldn’t help but sneak in a sip of wine at dinner, or at midnight. She couldn’t help but drink a bottle when my sister and I were outside playing. Both of them couldn’t help it.
My aunt tried numerous times to quit. She’d make it a couple of days without it… She’d look like crap… But she’d make it. Until my godfather would pick a fight, then she’d be back. Then they’d fight worse but she wouldn’t remember it.
The only thing I don’t understand is why she drank that day.
I mean my godfather wasn’t there… So she didn’t have a good reason to drink.
The only people who were around were the guys down at the shop working on the upkeep of the tools and other necessary tasks that kept St. Paul’s working.
So what was the reason behind her death?
Us.
Startled, I looked away from the Baby Loonie Toons cartoon on the television to notice my mother standing by the kitchen door. Her eyes usually unchanged were red and full of panic. My sister and I looked at each other wondering why our mom was there and not Aunt Kathy. Kathy had disappeared a little while ago to make us some lunch. She had promised that she’d be quick so she could watch Baby Loonie Toons with us.
My Mother blinked back tears and pulled us off the couch and toward the bookcase. She flipped the hidden switch that unlocked the door into my godfather’s office next door. Tim is the caretaker at St. Paul’s Churchyard.
I still remember how Brittany and I would play with the idea to touch it.A hidden door.In a bookcase. How could you get any more spyish than that? Britt and I would wait until lunch, knowing that Tim would come through the hidden door looking like a spy himself, so we could poke fun at him about being a spy.
Mom ushered us out the door and down the sidewalk toward her car.
My sister and I stopped dead in our tracks.
The grass along the sidewalk was dripping with blood and the pavement was a dull shade of pink. My sister, not liking the sight of blood, started crying. As my mom tries to calm her down I look toward the parking lot. I see a bunch of guys loading a stretcher into the back of an ambulance. I looked around to find someone who had always told me the truth… And finally found him.
My godfather stood by the ambulance looking in at the stretcher when I saw him. Tears in his eyes, he looked at me, looked at my sister, and looked back at me. I wanted to ask my mom if I could go to him… But we learned early on that when an adult cries, children are seen not heard.
The men surrounding the ambulance moved out of the way and my godfather tried to hide the gruesome view of the inside of the ambulance but it was too late.
I had seen her.
Covered in blood my aunt looked like, well, bad. Covered in blood and barely conscious she was making motions with her lips, I assumed moaning. My godfather motioned for the EMT’s to close the door. My mother, crying along with my sister, told me to go to the car. My mother walked my sister to the car while I just stood there. My godfather was crying. Really crying. This was the man who never cried. I started to get worried.
Where was Aunt Kathy?
Why is Tim crying?
Why isn’t my mom at work?
All these questions were swirling around in my head as I hopped into my mom’s car.
The next couple of days were a blur. One day at this relative’s house, the next day another. All we knew was that Aunt Kathy had gotten hurt. Really hurt. After a while my sister started smiling again. She’d only cry when my parents weren’t around. She said the reason why was because mom would think she’s depressed and then she would have to go to a doctor and that would just make mom more “Gray haired”.
But something else would make mom more “Gray haired” first.
Kathy died.
Her liver had completely shut down… In a week… I had practically lost my mother.
All of a sudden, this life force this… Sunny day… Just disappeared. My sister never smiled. She never laughed. It’s like she died along with her. She never worried about crying in front of my parents. She didn’t worry about what people saw when she gave up on her appearance. She woke up. She cried. She ate. She cried. She went back to bed. That was her routine.
After the funeral, things just got worse. My Grandmother had lost her pride and joy… And she blamed my godfather for it. My parents just slowly and slowly got back to their old routine. We no longer went to St. Paul’s Churchyard. We were babysat by my grandmother.
All of us hurt when we think about her.
But it’s okay. People need to understand that sometimes death isn’t a bad thing. Sometimes it’s a good escape. Kathy never felt normal. All she could think about was alcohol. Death allowed her to get away from the alcohol.
People think of me as weird because I talk about death. My father “plants” people, my godfather takes care of a cemetery. My family used to have picnics in cemeteries for crying out loud.I don’t like death. But it’s something I can understand.