I’m grateful to be home. I’m grateful for a chance to spend time with my son and a chance to help him when he needed it. I’m grateful to be an experienced mover. I’m grateful for a pretty amazing son. I’m grateful for seeing how things get better. I’m grateful to be sober today.
As I have mentioned many a time, my son is in the Navy and is stationed in Norfolk, VA. As I have also mentioned many a time, there was a point in the not-so-distant past when he finally had enough. It might have been the drunken dinner at our favorite Chinese restaurant where I kept telling him how sober I was. Maybe it was just the years of disappointments and lies and just plain old fear—but he had enough and told me that he would always love me and be grateful for what I had done for him, but that he got to choose who was in his life now. And that wasn’t really going to include me.
I heard about his decision to join the Navy, second-hand, a few months after that dinner. The funny thing is, I took my last drink about ten days after that dinner. He didn’t know that, and he 100% would not have believed me if I had told him. There are so many terrible moments imprinted in my memory—the look on his face when I moved out of the house, the fear in his voice when I called to tell him I was back in rehab, the despair at me never being able to hang on to those little slivers of sobriety. I find those memories searing and pretty intolerable and have to remember they are his; what I’m feeling is second-hand.I’m sure you’ll get the whole drawn-out, somewhat cleverly-footnoted version of this eventually, but I’m going to spare you that this morning and give you this:
Things can get better fast when you get sober.
Anyway, he was moving between apartments and was very excited to have found a bigger place in a nicer building. The problem was he would only have about 18 hours to move. His ship gets underway next week and there is a substantial amount of work in getting ready for that—also, the Captain wanted people getting used to sleeping on the ship. He had from Tuesday evening until Wednesday afternoon to move. I offered to come down and help and he initially declined saying it wasn’t going to be that hard and had some friends who could help. A few days later, he called, asked if I remembered offering to help him move and then asked if that offer was still open. It was.
I really hate moving. It’s pretty much at the top of the list of things I hate. Its neighbors on that list include stuffed green peppers, people who honk their car horns before 7am and the music of Air Supply. So, right up there at the tippy-top of the “man-I-hate-that” Tree. We did a lot of moving when I was a kid and there’s been a fair amount of alcohol-connected moving in my later years.1 I really hate it. But I love spending time with my son, so I loved the idea of helping him move.
I had been hearing quite a bit about how organized he was this time and how everything was pretty much packed up. I heard something similar when I was helping him move out of his freshman dorm in college. I arrived around 1pm to a completely darkened room, my son answered the door pretty much straight out of bed. There wasn’t very much packed and there was the very distinct smell of vomit in the rom. His roommate never stirred the entire time we were moving. I knew this would be better than that time. It had to be, right?
I got to Norfolk late Tuesday afternoon and things were substantially better. We did more packing and then got up early to go get the U-Haul and get cracking. We had ideal moving conditions. Temperature in the low 60’s (for February!), no rain, no traffic in the elevators, no stairs. The Gods of Moving were at least grinning at us. We got to work and moved a couple of loads pretty quickly. This always breeds false optimism and it can be fatal to the inexperienced mover. You see, with appropriately-used dollies and elevators and ramps, you can move the pretty heavy stuff pretty easily and pretty quickly. The part that really sucks is all of the small stuff. Professional movers uses boxes exclusively because they have learned that packing your belongings in a variety of totes, old luggage and backpacks and recyclable grocery store bags inevitably leads to chaos.
When we arrived back at the old place for the third load, he was very optimistic and suggested that we take a break and go have a nice relaxing lunch somewhere. I looked around the apartment, taking in the modern day equivalent of how the Snopes of Yoknapatawpha probably moved, and suggested that we do a few more loads before taking a break. He reluctantly agreed.
We finished moving at 5:30pm. The earlier talk of celebratory meals had given way to physical exhaustion, plus he was due back at his ship very soon. He looked around the new apartment, very happy and pleased and very tired and said,
“I could not have done this without you, Dad.”
He ducked into the bathroom to shower and shave and pack some things to report to the ship. He drove me to the hotel and kept apologizing for not being able to stay. Do you think that mattered to me? When I had mentioned that I was going down to help him move, friends remarked what a good Dad I was. That’s a hard one for me to accept and how I usually respond is
I have some making-up to do.
And that’s what this is. It’s not a calculated demonstration to prove I’m sober and win back the affection of my children a task or gift at a time. When you start to think about how to make amends to the people you love and the people you hurt so badly, well, it can be a little overwhelming. What I’m realizing is that it’s not about grand gestures or tearful, drawn out confessions and pleas for forgiveness—that puts the burden back on them. I realize what I can do is what they probably missed the most:
Show up when they need me.
So, that’s what I do and how I ended up in Norfolk for another moving day. It was actually a really good day. The two of us worked together and got a big job done. We make a good team, there is no arguing or discussing, just the let’s get to work attitude that I very much favor. He didn’t get angry when I dropped a box and the bolts for his bed frame may have disappeared and I didn’t get frustrated when we discovered an entire cabinet of food that hadn’t been packed.
I think it’s pretty clear that the bonds that were dissolved by alcohol can be reforged. It can take some time and effort and it may involve moving boxes or even worse. But, I’d do it every day of the week if I could and if my aching 60-year-old body could manage it. And you’re definitely going to think this is a cheap stunt, but as we were loading the very last few things for the very last trip, guess what I found:2
Thanks for Letting Me Share
Yes, like a true alcoholic, I have moved my belongings in trash bags.
Feel free to check the time and location stamps.
At the risk of being accused of being bitten by the February 14th bug, ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️
Also, this made me LOL
“Its neighbors on that list include stuffed green peppers, people who honk their car horns before 7am and the music of Air Supply.”
Don’t show up at my house unannounced.