Alcoholic Parent; neither present nor absent?

The first time I remember my Father clearly choosing alcohol over me was when I was six years old.

I had just been diagnosed with type one diabetes and I had been admitted to a children's hospital ward for a couple of weeks.

Please do not get me wrong in any way, shape or form, he was not Father of the Year prior to this admission, but this is honestly my first real memory of it. My Mother and maternal Grandmother basically lived at the hospital with me during this time, trying to learn everything there is to learn about keeping six year old me alive. The Nurses' let my Mum sleep next to my hospital bed on a fold out chair for what feels like ages, but in reality it was probably no more than two weeks at most.

When a child is diagnosed with insulin dependant diabetes; the hospital obviously have to ensure that there are at least two responsible adults involved that have been shown and taught how to administer insulin injections before discharge - pretty sensible, yes?

I thought so.

My Mum learnt how to administer my medication straight away - after all, insulin is the only medication that will keep a type one diabetic alive, and this was in 1997, no insulin pumps were used routinely back then, it was only injections - syringes at that, I shudder at the memory of those bad boys!

But my Dad refused to learn how to give me my medication.

Let that sink in for a moment, my Father refused to learn how to administer my life saving medication, medication that I would honestly be dodo levels of dead, without.

Yeah. That is pretty shocking, isn't it? Even when I was six years old I remember justifying it in my head that maybe he was concerned because he might have shaky hands from the drinking? Maybe this choice is out of love? I thought that for years. Until I had my daughter, that is.

There is no way, on this Earth, that if my Daughter became incredibly ill, with only one treatment option in the entire world that would help to keep her alive - that I would not learn how to administer it. Nothing would stop me, fire, walking on hot coals, Christ I would crawl across shards of glass and hot coals on my hands in order to learn how to keep her safe and alive.

Shouldn't that be the norm for every parent, though? I don't think I am saying anything spectacular here.

Our relationship growing up was never close, not really. There would be forced weekend visits to that side of the family, but luckily for my Brother and I we suddenly have a wonderful get out escape plan, with the diabetes - which we implemented, many, many..... many, many (many) times. But without our Mum keeping that contact up, it would have fallen by the wayside a lot sooner than it did.

The next notable event (don't get me wrong, there had been a lot more along the way, believe me), was my sweet sixteenth birthday. I had begged my Mum to let me have my best friend to come over for dinner, she said no. I remember thinking how awful she was for saying no, but now with adult eyes I can see she was already expecting some drunken surprise from my Father. We sat down to eat in the afternoon, just close family, no friends!

Dad did not show up, I had invited him, and I remember being upset by this - however not surprised, he was not exactly Mr Reliable at the best of times.

But yes, maybe it was being young, or maybe just disappointment about yet again not being as important as a can of beer, but I was upset. I remember my Grandmother taking me out to the shops to treat me to my birthday present, a little portable DVD player and some DVDs.

And that is when we saw him.

So where I grew up there is a town centre boasting your usual British high street shops, M&S, WH Smiths, H&M, even a Top Shop back then... there was also a pub a mere 100 yards away from the shops.

Enter Daddy dearest.

Completely covered in blood, like a pissed Carrie, trashed out of his mind so much so that he wasn't even on this planet.

I'm a little hazy about what happened next, whether my Nan gave him a bollocking and frogmarched him back down the road or not is lost to me, but the next thing I remember is all of us being back indoors.

His excuse for being around four hours late to my sixteenth birthday meal and being covered in blood? He tried to tell us that he fell at first, then when we clearly were not showing much sympathy his story changed - no he was mugged by a gang of vicious hoodies.

Why are you steaming then, Daddy?

Why don't you know where the heck you are then, Daddy?

Why haven't you even bought me a birthday card or said happy birthday to me yet, stranger?

I started studying at degree level in 2015 when my Daughter was one, trying to get my s**t together for the both of us. I got a call one day, that my Father listed as a Missing Person. Why bother telling me? In hindsight I think I got swept up in the drama of it all, you know? I was 23 and stupid - 'guess what? My Dad is a missing person!? Pssh pssh, whisper whisper'

But was I worried? I geniunely don't think I was, not beyond surface level, it was like I was play acting, shouldn't a Daughter be concerned? Yeah I probably should be, so...lets act concerned I guess? From memory I think he rocked up a week or so later in a rehab facility in Cornwall or Devon, somewhere like that, and considering we live in London that must have been quite the bender.

With adult eyes now, as a parent, and a semi functioning human being, I feel more indifference towards him now, I guess, there are no Daddy issues, all my issues are proudly self made, thanks. We text occassionally, not often. I last saw him in 2018 when I graduated - however he made things difficult by not attending the service because my Mother and Step Father were there (so was his teeny Granddaughter, but hey ho), so I had to meet him in a, wait for it, drum roll please.... a pub! Surprisingly though, this was during a period of sobriety. That is another thing though, he has been drunk for I think the majority of my time on Earth certainly, and he has told my Grandmother before that he started drinking heavily when he was just fourteen years old, so that is since 1974; so even when he is sober, he sounds completely and utterly pissed, I do have to admit that I label him as 'Gherkin' because he was pickled himself.

My point of writing this? Look, I have read all of the support and writings about being a loving family member, and that is all positive and sunshine - but, it hinges on still being a loving family member, doesn't it? It is not applicable for everyone in this circumstance because addiction is such a personal thing, as are the ripple effects that they tend to cause.

So if you are full of resentment, anger, upset or like me, sheer indifference to it now, then please know that those emotions and feelings are also, completely and utterly valid, also.

You don't have to always be the anchor attached to someone sinking faster than the Titanic, it's ok to protect yourself.