She knew all of them.  He knew hers.  The knowing of why he got married never behooved mom.  For goodness sakes, she had grandchildren.  Not the first of grandchildren, but no less, he produced.  Just like she did.  Who cares if it was the church who pretty much forced her and her husband together.  The church felt it would be best that they stayed together, despite what it knew.  Maybe, it was their idea of ‘conversion therapy.’  Little did he know, that nickname her son acquired in college, Lou, which stood for “Loser,” would come back to haunt him.  Many, many times.
     As the drinking got heavier and heavier, the dementia and anger grew more fiercely.  His mom would throw physical tantrums at her best friend.  Never once did she assault her husband.  The police were called to carry her away each time.  Still, her was constantly reminded of his failed attempts at life, at living.  But, as her determined hate professed, so did her son’s.  When she hit, he hit back.  Once it was all over, no one remembered a thing.  Except for the apparent bruises and scratches and scrapes.  This obviously made him an even bigger loser.  Yet, through it all, her detached god-fearing husband could be found barricaded in his room all nestled on the tiny sleeper sofa that fit kindly into the short bedroom he called his own.  Mom finally broke the camel’s back when she was caught driving under the influence after leaving her younger daughter’s home.  Guess who came to her rescue?
     It wasn’t too long after her release, the authorities were called to their home again.  This time, it would be her last stay at the home she let the tormented spirits fester.  Walking into the front door, one might ask why the walls were so dark and that there were no window coverings.  I knew.  Along with all the crosses on the tables and walls, the Jesus pictures hung so strategically, cut-outs of biblical sayings posted about on refrigerator and bedroom doors…there was trouble there that had no plans of fleeing anytime soon.  Even after she left, the dad still slept with his light on.
     There were those times when my partner would attempt his own hand at withdrawal.  One particular event had his younger sister witness him having a seizure in the aisle of a Hobby Lobby.  It would be her only time doing this.  Her own bouts of repression and drinking would make her more numb to the fact that, all awhile she was left with Sybil, her brother and eldest sister abandoned her and the youngest brother for college.  Was her about to leave again, under different circumstances?  She wanted to be a part of his life without the future hands-on experience.  All the while, little sis knew that mom and dad were enabling her brother’s non-sobriety.
     Her sought help at every turn.  Sadly, when he felt the need to return to the emergency room, his family members were too busy to go in and sit with him.  They would just pull up to the front door and tell him to call them when he was ready to come home.  Where was the love?  He recalled the time that was most traumatic to him when he was escorted to a mental ward.  He didn’t know why he was there.  He wanted help because of his drinking issue.  That was all.  Somehow, he talked his way free and walked the seven miles back home in the dead of winter.  Putting his life in further jeopardy, he accepted a ride from a group of college kids who felt he garnered a lift.  Everything’s a blur, after that.  They all wanted to know how he made it back to the house…without calling either of them.