We didn’t think anyone outside of our house knew but, of course, they did. I knew the jig was up in high school when a friend was supposed to pick me up but never arrived. She said she left a message with my father, but I never received it. And then she said, “I think your father was drinking.”

I guess it had been obvious, but our family dysfunction, though foreign to others, was our normal. My brain acknowledged when Dad was really drunk, but his typical “buzzed” behavior was so common that it had become unnoticeable. And if completely honest, buzzed was something I hoped for, because drunk meant unpredictable moments, especially if he drank hard liquor. Dad was a functional alcoholic who grew up dirt poor. Providing for his family was important to him, so he went to work sober every day and started drinking as soon as he got out.

When sober, Dad was wonderful

All of it was so sad because if you were lucky enough to be around Dad when he was sober, you were in the company of the most wonderful man. Hard-working. Funny. Smart. Insightful. Wise. Protective. And so loving. I never doubted how much he loved me. The best tidbits of advice I ever received came from Dad and he always conveyed them most gently, with words meant to guide, not humiliate.

Dad, a Staff Sergeant in the Army Air Force during WWII, finally received his veterans’ marker in November of last year, and that’s when I became enthralled with where he was and what he experienced while enlisted. Our son suggested that I watch Band of Brothers and Masters of the Air, which I did, and afterward, I felt such sadness because according to Dad’s discharge papers, he saw a lot of the same action in Normandy, Northern France, Central Europe, and the Rhineland. The things he witnessed and experienced had to have been unspeakable. Our son mentioned that when he was about ten years old, a WWII documentary was on the television, and with tears, Dad said, “There is nothing more horrific than the smell of human flesh burning.” He also described how his unit took a runway from the Germans.

We still don’t understand post-traumatic stress

Hearing that broke my heart because it made me realize something. My mother had known my father from the time they were children in elementary school, and I don’t ever remember her saying that he had a drinking problem when he was young. Both of my parents are gone now, so I can’t ask the myriad questions burning in my mind, but I wonder if his alcoholism manifested after the war. During my years in journalism, while covering a story, an addiction expert told me that when an addiction doesn’t go away, often an undiagnosed psychological condition drives the addiction because the person is self-medicating. Was Dad suffering from post-traumatic stress and self-medicating? During WWII they called it shell shock. They didn’t know the full effects of post-traumatic stress back then, and as much as we know now, there is so much more to learn.

Born in 1923, Dad was part of the Greatest Generation. Like his friends who served during that time, Dad never talked about the war. He kept those memories bottled up within the far corners of his mind. We learned more about Dad’s time in the military from the veterans’ service officer who spoke at his funeral than we ever did from him, and that man spoke of Dad with reverence.

Dad was sober for a few years, and then my parents buried a child. Ruth Ann was thirty-six and the pain was so great that Dad crawled into a bottle and didn’t come out for two years. It was the worst I’d ever seen him, and he reached a point where he couldn’t tolerate himself because he checked himself into rehab and never drank again.

Many soldiers make it home alive but with missing parts

My heart tells me that Dad was self-medicating, and it pains me that he suffered so much. I’m sure some people stood in judgment of Dad, but we never fully understand another’s life journey. Where they have been. What they have experienced. Or how they feel. Sometimes even those who live with them are not aware. Even clueless. Dad didn’t lose his life in the military, so technically, it’s Veterans Day, not Memorial Day, that honors him. But May is Mental Health Awareness Month, and it’s important to remember that many soldiers come back alive but with pieces of themselves missing, physically and psychologically.

In heaven, where Dad surely resides, I hope he has found the peace he deserves.

Until next time,

 Jean     AKA The Strategic Chicken – Making life’s journey one strategic step at a time.