In a Mother's Absence

In a Mother’s Absence

         I can’t believe I have to do this. Could anything be worse? Hannah walks around the front of her car and steps onto the sidewalk, suddenly aware of the swarm of butterflies fighting to free themselves from her stomach. She looks up at the tall, imposing steeple of Our Lady of Lourdes Catholic Church and the butterflies instantly multiply. Standing motionless, she tries to find a reason - any excuse - to get back into her car and drive away. This is a complete waste of time. I’m not an … But it doesn’t matter. She could list 101 reasons why being at this church on a brisk, October evening was wrong, but there was only one reason that mattered - the piece of paper issued by the judge, the one that stated her attendance in a room full of strangers was mandatory.

         Trying to avoid entering into her first night of penance until the very last minute, Hannah scrutinizes the intimidating structure before her. There is an enormous stained glass window above the row of solid oak doors leading into the church and the scene is of a woman on her knees, dressed in blue and white robes, holding a dying man in her arms. She assumes the man is Jesus, the woman in the circular window his mother and while the architect’s intention in choosing this particular image was probably to provide comfort to those who come here, the depiction makes her uneasy. Walking hesitantly up the stone steps and into the shadow cast by the setting sun Hannah can feel Mary’s loving gaze for her child go cold as she stares down in judgment.

         I’m not like them. I’m not. It would be so easy to turn around and join Molly and Ray at Murphy’s. They were probably on their second round of vodka and tonics by now. She of course has that option, but only if she wishes to spend time in jail for violating the terms of her probation. Instead Hannah begrudgingly pulls open one of the massive doors and looks up at the church’s façade, curious to see if the resident hunchback is visible in his bell tower. It’s empty. No gargoyles on the ledge either. Let’s just get this over with.

         Hannah walks into the church and finds that it’s no warmer inside where she’s surrounded by cold, grey stone than it was outside. In fact, it may actually be colder. Someone else enters from the side door and she isn’t sure whether it’s a man or a woman in the shadows, but as a sharp wind blows in through the exit to the outside world, she remembers the last time she was inside a church. It was for her mother’s funeral 17 months ago.

         Evelyn “Evie” Davidson died on May 23rd from complications due to cirrhosis of the liver. She had been sick for months before finally giving in to the disease, although some would say she had surrendered several years before her medical problems began.

         Evie's own mother, a woman with drug and alcohol addictions, abandoned her when she was two years old and so the toddler was forced to fend for herself beneath the crushing hand of a physically abusive father. When Evie was twelve years old, her father (Hannah was never told his name) left the house at 2 p.m. to work the night shift at a local chemical plant and he never came home. Two weeks after his departure a truant officer knocked on the front door and, upon finding the young girl completely alone, Evie was sent to live with an aunt across town.

         After spending six years in the guest room of the Reardon home, Evie dropped out of high school when she turned 18, got a job as a waitress at Arturo’s Ristorante, and moved into an apartment with a couple of girls from work. Just three weeks into her new profession, Evie met Jack Davidson.

         He was 6’3” with an athletic build, freshly trimmed brown hair, brown eyes and an engaging smile. Jack was also seven years older than Evie, but he knew, after finishing a heaping portion of baked lasagna, that he had met the girl he was going to marry. He had ordered the chicken parmesan, but when Evie brought him the lasagna he graciously thanked her for it and proceeded to eat every last bite, knowing the ricotta cheese would give him hives within the hour.

         The two were married seven months later and by the time Evie was 23 years old she was living in a three bedroom house in a safe, suburban neighborhood with her handsome husband and three children - Hannah, Annie and Michael. Yet, all was not bliss. Evie could not escape the legacy of a mother she barely knew - Evie was an alcoholic.

         Hannah remembered the many mornings when her father shooed his children out the door for the day, even bringing lunch out to the picnic table, so as not to disturb their sleeping mother. And who could forget the many times Hannah was left to wait alone for her mother to pick her up after basketball practice or after school tutoring. Most of the time Hannah would wait the obligatory hour, then walk the three mile route home. Her mother always apologized upon her return and offered up excuses ranging from the car running out of gas to not realizing what time it was and occasionally admitting she just plain forgot. Finally, after more than two decades of shirked responsibilities and days lost to hangovers, Evie spent an evening with her best friend Jack Daniels, fell asleep and died at the age of 44.

         Hannah was now back in church, but this time it was not for a funeral. She was here because her father said it was time to take control of her life. She was here because her sister was worried about the inevitable (according to her) middle of the night phone call she would get saying Hannah was dead. They all think that I’m just like her. But I’m not. I’m not like her. I don’t need anyone’s help. So I had an accident. So what? It could have happened to anyone.

         The policeman who responded to her accident didn’t agree and charged Hannah with driving while intoxicated. Hannah insisted she fell asleep and pointed out that no one had been injured in the crash. The judge wasn’t convinced either and sentenced Hannah to five years probation; he also ordered her license revoked for 90 days with the exception of driving to and from work and court mandated AA meetings.

         She had put off this interruption to her life as long as she could, but was due to report back to the judge next week. Why do they hold these things in churches anyway? Hannah looks around and sees a small welcome sign to her left, very discreet except for the big red arrow pointing down a dark, narrow hallway and she reluctantly follows it, intermittently glancing up at the religious artwork donning the walls. Suddenly, the passageway opens up into a small, brightly lit function room.

         There are no signs telling her that she’s in the right place, but the room is full of people, metal folding chairs lined up in rows and two wooden tables along the back wall with several coffee urns and plates full of assorted baked goods on them. This was most definitely it. Hannah gets caught off guard not only by the large number of admitted alcoholics in the room, but by the fact that so many of them seem to be her age and younger. I thought alcoholics were supposed to be old. Where are all the wrinkles and gray hair?

         As she scans the crowd of strangers, suddenly her breath stops short and Hannah suddenly feels as if she’s trapped in a closet. It can’t be. It just can’t. It was. Standing not thirty feet in front of her in the center of the room was Connie Whitman. They had graduated from high school together, but never traveled in the same circles. Connie lived in a large house in the center of town that sat on a well-manicured lawn, recieved a brand new Benz for her sixteenth birthday and was never lacking in designer labels. She was also one of those girls who only dated college guys because high school boys were “too immature.” What is she doing here?

         Hannah immediately turns around so as not to blow her cover. Connie Whitman - an alcoholic. I don’t believe it. I wonder if her parents know? And her husband? Isn’t he a banker or a stock broker or something? I wonder if anyone from high school knows? Her thoughts are interrupted by a tap on her shoulder.

         “Hannah? Hannah Davidson?” Hannah slowly turns in the direction of the bird-like voice and does her best impression of a smile. “I don’t believe it.”

         “I was just thinking the same thing,” Hannah replies. “How are you, Connie? I mean obviously you’re not well … I just meant, you know … Not that you’re …”

         “It’s OK, Hannah,” Connie interrupted. “You don’t have to be afraid to ask me how I’m doing. I’m an alcoholic. I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t, right? ” There’s a long awkward pause between the two women. “But if you really want to know, my life’s a complete mess.”

         “Well, everyone has problems.” Hannah starts looking around the room hoping someone might see her extreme discomfort and rescue her from this unwelcome conversation.

         “Yes, we do, don’t we. I mean, you’re here tonight, aren‘t you?”

         Hannah snaps back to attention. How dare she. “Your kids must be taking this pretty hard. You being a drunk and all,” she replies while trying to ignore the burning sensation behind her eyes.

         “It’s been tough. I’m only allowed to see them twice a week and every other weekend. My husband and I are separated right now and he insisted on keeping the children with him. But they’ll be OK.”

         “So you’re divorced? That’s too bad.”

         “Well, nothing’s final yet. We’re just separated. Warren came home one night and I was passed out on the couch. Meanwhile Mikayla was trying to make macaroni and cheese for dinner. She’s only six, we’re lucky she didn’t burn herself …”

         “Or the house while she was at it,” Hannah said sarcastically.

         “Yes. Like I said, we were very lucky. But that was it. Warren wanted a divorce, but I told him I would change. I promised to get help. So he said he’d give me another chance if I got myself together . . .”

         It was then that Hannah tuned out. This is why I didn’t want to come here in the first place. I’m not a priest. I don’t like listening to confessions - especially not one coming from Connie Whitman. We were never friends in high school. Why does she want to buddy up now? I mean, this is an AA meeting for God‘s sake! Isn’t the whole idea supposed to be that individuals remain anonymous? Seeing as how she’s “in the program” shouldn’t she know that?

         Hannah starts looking around the room again and her agitation is suddenly obvious to Connie.

         “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to go on and on. What about you? What brings you here tonight, Hannah?”

         “I promised my dad I would come. He’s been worried about all of us since my mother died. He thinks that if you have a couple of drinks once in a while you must have a problem, you know, because my mother was an alcoholic . . . I won’t be back though.”

         “I heard about your mom. I’m so sorry.”

         “Yeah well, I don’t remember getting your card.”

         “It must have been tough for you growing up. I had no idea. Although, I guess it explains a few things.”

         “What ‘few things’ might you be referring to?”

         “I just meant that … well … You have to admit you were always up for a party in high school. I remember once, senior year I think, you showed up for English class drunk and it was only second period! Everyone was talking about it by lunch …”

         “Yeah, well those were the days, weren’t they? But that was high school, Connie. Things change.” I can’t believe this. She’s going to try and make me feel bad? I’m not the one whose husband left me because I have a habit of passing out!

         “Not everything changes, Hannah. It catches up with all of us eventually.” Hannah doesn’t respond. “I mean, look at me. I was the All-American girl in high school - straight A student, voted most likely to succeed. Nobody ever thought I‘d wind up here.”

         “We’re not the same, Connie. We never have been,” Hannah bites back. “You, you obviously need this thing; I don’t. And I don’t appreciate you trying to get me to admit something about myself that isn’t true. I don’t need this 12 steps to a better me crap.”

         “What about your arrest, Hannah? They don’t hand out DUIs to just anyone …”

         “Excuse me! Where do you get off …”

         “Hannah, it was in the paper . . . Look, admitting you have a problem is the first step to recovery.“

         “You know what, Connie? You’re right. Some things never change. You still think you’re better than me even though you’re the one standing here admitting you can’t hold your liquor. You may very well belong here, but I don’t want to join your club.”

         “Hannah, please. I’m just trying to help. It’s not easy, but this thing works if you want it to …”

         “Enough with the AA speak! Seriously! Enough! Yes, I had a car accident. Yes, I had had a couple of drinks before I turned the key. But I wasn’t drunk! I fell asleep! Why doesn‘t anyone believe me?!”

         “I didn’t mean to upset you …”

         “Upset? Why would I be upset? I come here, by myself, and I see you. Now I didn’t go running up to you and single you out, but here you are talking to me about your miserable life and lecturing me about my drinking habits! I don’t need your help! I’m fine, thank you! So would you please just leave me the hell alone!”

         Connie is stunned. A few of the other attendees standing in the immediate vicinity have turned their heads and are now listening in on the heated exchange.
         “I’m sorry, Hannah. You’re right. I didn’t mean to make you angry. The meeting’s about to start.” Connie turns and takes a step in the opposite direction, but then stops and turns back around to face Hannah once more. “I do hope you stick around - whatever your reasons.”

         “Yeah. Good luck. I hope everything works out.” The two women part and Hannah finds a chair at the back of the room, on her way picking up a cup of coffee and a chocolate chip cookie. She sits down, takes a bite of the cookie and finds herself thinking about the car accident. It really could have happened to anyone.

         Hannah had been out drinking with Molly and Ray that night at Murphy’s, their regular watering hole, and Hannah had convinced Pete the bartender to serve up a couple of after hours drinks. It had been a tough day. She hadn’t gotten a freelance job in weeks; even the local newspaper had stopped calling, and her car was in desperate need of repairs. Hannah had tried to write a preview for an upcoming local arts and music festival earlier in the evening, but nothing was worth printing - not even on toilet paper - so she headed to Murphy’s to let off some steam.

         By three a.m. on that humid July night poor Pete had had enough - It was closing time. He offered to call Hannah a cab (he always did), but she assured him she was fine. After all, her apartment was just up the street. So she got into her car and tried several times to get the key into the ignition without success. Hannah sat back in her seat, closed her eyes, put her chin to her chest and for one moment considered calling a cab. The moment passed and instead she took a deep breath, rolled down the driver’s side window and tried once more to get the key into the ignition. This time she met the challenge without difficulty and was on her way home.

         Just a little more than a mile from her house she drifted across the double yellow center line. Upon realizing her location she jerked the steering wheel to the right and drove the car straight into an unforgiving old, oak tree. The next thing she remembers is waking up in a hospital room surrounded by her father, her brother, her sister and a police officer reading her her Miranda rights. I fell asleep.

         Hannah tries to focus on what’s going on in the front of the room, but is unmoved as one by one people begin to stand and share their alcoholic life stories. One woman in her thirties talks about her father, who was also an alcoholic, and drank himself to death when she was 12 years old. “Sarah” doesn’t want to end up like him. No kidding. At least she didn’t have to live through 25 years of it. “Sarah” continues to tell the audience of solemn faces and nodding heads that by the time she was seven she was getting herself and her two younger siblings up and dressed in the morning, fed and on the school bus, while her mother was at work and her father passed out in bed. When Evie was suffering a tough hangover it was Hannah who got Annie and Michael ready for school. It was also Hannah who pulled her mother out of bed, got her dressed, poured her a cup of coffee (a splash of milk, no sugar) and warmed up the car when the Davidson children missed the bus. Five years must have been a walk in the park.

         “Sarah” sits down and “Brian” stands up as if taking a stage cue. He barely looks like he’s out of high school as he shuffles to the front of the room and proceeds to tell everyone that even after three drunk driving arrests he didn’t think he was an alcoholic and it was his little sister who convinced him to join the program.

         “She’s fourteen,” Brian says with a tear rolling down his pale cheek. “She begged me to get help because she’s afraid I’m going to die if I don’t stop drinking.” He meets the eyes of several faces in the crowd, then takes a deep breath and says with conviction, “It’s been 47 days since my last drink.” The crowd erupts in applause.

         47 days? So what? I can do 47 days. I can do 300 days if I want to. But why? What’s wrong with having a few drinks with friends? I work. I pay my bills. I’m not hurting anyone. I’m tired of everyone trying to change me! These people, they couldn’t stop on their own. They have a disease just like my mother did. But I’m not her. I‘m not one of them.

         After just 25 minutes of testimonials from alcoholics trying to stay sober, Hannah quietly gets up from her chair and heads for the exit. Once she escapes into the dimly lit hall of the church she quickens her pace and heads for the exit with determination. Hannah rifles through her coat pockets trying to locate her car keys - empty. I just want to get out of here. She can’t help but think about heading straight to Murphy’s for a beer. Just one.

         She starts fumbling around in her purse and accidentally drops her wallet in the process. Hannah cringes at the echoing sound of loose change hitting the cold stone and watches helplessly as miscellaneous receipts and papers scatter along the floor. She bends down, holding back tears, collects her belongings and stuffs everything inside her purse.

         Hannah finally finds her keys in the jacket pocket she had previously checked and opens the cumbersome door that leads to the outside world. At that moment she sees a small, tattered piece of yellowed paper on the floor, picks it up and turns it over. It’s a picture of Hannah sitting on the couch with her mother when she was six or seven years old.

         Evie is smiling brightly, her eyes engaging the camera while she holds a glass in her hand (the color hints at Jim Beam), as if toasting the photographer. Evie's other arm is wrapped around an equally exuberant Hannah, her smile revealing a missing front tooth, as she’s holding up a glass of water or 7-Up to mirror her mother’s. It’s Hannah’s favorite picture because unless she's looking at it she finds it difficult to recall her mother's smile.

         Staring at the photo with the door wide open, the wind blowing freshly fallen leaves into the doorway of the church, one of the tears that had tried to escape just moments ago finds its way down her cheek. Hannah closes her eyes, squeezing them tightly to halt the floodgates, and takes a deep breath. She gently secures the picture in her wallet and walks back down the winding corridor into the meeting - this time without that feeling of utter dread.

         Upon reentering the room, she finds the entire group standing in a circle holding hands with one another. They are reciting some kind of mantra that sounds very familiar to Hannah, but she can’t immediately place it. Then, almost in the same second, she remembers. It’s the poem from the plaque her mother used to have hanging above the stove. Every once in a while Hannah would come home from school and find her mother staring at the plaque and reading from it in a voice just barely above a whisper. It read:

Serenity Prayer
God grant me the serenity,
To accept the things I cannot change;
Courage to change the things I can,
And wisdom to know the difference.

         In that moment it occurs to Hannah that maybe her mother knew her drinking was a problem after all. Maybe she wasn’t selfish or weak or in denial. Maybe she tried to get better, but didn‘t get enough time. Maybe it had nothing to do with her love, or what Hannah believed to be lack of love, for her husband and three children.

         Hannah walks over to the circle and two women break the link between them to let her in. She closes the gap with her own body, the circle is once again complete, and turns to meet the steel blue eyes of the woman to her right. The woman appears to be in her mid-forties and she shares a gentle smile that threatens to bring the tears back to Hannah's eyes.

         Maybe this wasn’t such a complete waste of time after all. Maybe Hannah was finally where she belonged. Maybe she would have the time to heal that her mother didn't and maybe her mere presence in this moment would be enough to change the the story told by the two generations of women before her.

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