Fly Free

I tried one more time, but this time his phone went straight to message bank. Now this could mean that his battery was dead or he’s turned it off. I honestly don’t know why I care. Yes, he’s my son’s father, but he’s put us through hell, with the unemployment, drinking, drugs and threats that forced me to get an AVO. I was a little concerned, as he rang every night to talk to his son, not that I would let him if he sounded off his head, but it had been a couple of days and nothing.

A few years ago, he was working on a piece of machinery at a friend’s factory and he had been drinking. As the machine came down, he couldn’t get his finger out of the way. He quickly tried to stop the machine with his other arm. It was too late!

His friend drove him to the hospital and left him there. He knew he had been drinking and didn’t want to get involved, so he left him at the main entrance. Now right or wrong the staff there also could tell he’d been drinking and I’m sure, having been around him enough times, while he’s been drinking, he can be quite the arsehole. He waited for quite a while and they then bandaged the crushed finger and told him to wait for the doctor…he needed a drink, so he left.

Long story short he developed Golden Staph. The shoulder of the arm he used to try and stop the machine, needed to be operated on, but it not be, because of the infection.

Over the next two years he spent time in isolation in hospital and was put on and became addicted to Oxycodone and Endone. Now we all know alcohol and medications don’t mix and of course, it didn’t. He slid further and further down the slippery slope to self-destruction.

We lived in different states now and because he had alienated everyone around him, I decided to call an ambulance for a welfare check.

He wasn’t always like this. He was a businessman, pilot, owned a beautiful home on acreage, but had a disease and was his own worst enemy. That disease was alcoholism. Now there are many functioning out there, but when you can’t hold down a job, can’t start the day without a drink and think about drinking all day... you have a problem.

The ambulance knocked the door down and then I got a call...they found him dead...I let go an involuntary, audible gasp.

I always thought “he will hit rock bottom, realise we’re worth fighting for...the woman that loved him, paid $1000 for a naltrexone implant to help him with his addition, help him get a unit, paid his rent and his amazing autistic son...and seek help”, but he died...

We flew down for the funeral and then helped clean up his unit and what struck me as odd, was the half empty vodka bottle, right next to a self-help book. He must have been going through such an internal struggle. Just under the bed was a box with his son’s name on it. Inside was a black book...it was a journal containing his thoughts and dreams for his son. However, at the end of the book he had written “Did you get the clue?”. What did that mean? What clue? Clue to what?

I went through the book again, this time trying to read between the lines Then I saw it! That word, that word he used over and over again. over and over when he was drunk and proud to be part of his clan, ‘Dunmaglass’. What he meant was, the words on his coat of arms “Touch Not This Cat”.

I looked back in the box and there was a little stuffed tiger. He absolutely loved tigers. He had a tiger tattoo and he even painted a tiger on his plane. Around the neck of the stuffed tiger was a blue ribbon. On the ribbon was a phone number. I rang the number and it was an insurance company.

He had named his son as the beneficiary of a life insurance policy...he did love him...what a waste…fly free..

Written by Janice Burns 02/03/2021