Overcoming The Clutches Of Alcoholism

From Darkness to Redemption

I looked down at his lifeless face. The sad eyes and downturned mouth struck me with such a feeling of complete disbelief.

This was not the Clark I knew.

He was usually full of laughter and glee as he got into his usual mischief in the school playground. Prancing around like a pony and acting as a magnet for the other boys to follow. Always on the hunt for new fun and adventures.

Yet here he lay. In a small open casket at Moody’s funeral home.

The area surrounding him was adorned with flowers and accompanied by soft, classical music playing in the background. A complete contrast to the cries of the family.

They were not merely crying, these were guttural wails coming from deep within their souls. Absolute grief!

Their child had been run over by a wayward car as he rode his bicycle. Taken so early in life and never to return.

I looked over at his young brother who was standing just out of my reach. He had the same face as that within the coffin. He looked up at me and behind the flowing tears, I could see a look of utter fear and disbelief on his face.

There was an intense pleading in those eyes as well. Almost as if he was asking me to fix all of this. Return everything to normal once again so he could go play with his brother. I was the principal of his school after all. It was my job to fix things.

A surreal and haunting image that will remain imprinted upon my brain until the day I leave this earth.

It is also the exact moment I finally broke and began my descent into alcohol abuse.

The fact that this was my breaking moment did not occur to me until recently. After being diagnosed with cancer last year, I came face to face with my own mortality. Times like that help us to see things much clearer. As I wondered how I managed to get cancer in the first place, I realized that alcohol was the likely culprit.

All well and good, but how did I manage to identify this moment as my breaking point? Upon deep reflection, it became as clear as the nose on my face.

I was a school principal for many years. I loved the job and was very close to my staff and students. That being said, it was a role that was accompanied by a lot of heartbreak as well. Indeed, the sad stories of abuse and broken families were not uncommon.

The worst thing I had to face in my tenure, however, was the death of a student. Tragically, this is something I encountered five different times.

Clark was number five.

Most principals will go through their entire careers without ever having to experience the loss of a child. For some reason, I saw it happen multiple times. While these deaths took place at the family homes, this did not diminish the anguish they brought to the school. It was utterly soul-sucking.

That being said, up until Clark’s death, I had always successfully managed these tragic events. I ensured counseling and support were provided to the many people who were impacted and grief-stricken. That was my job. I had to ensure that everyone under my watch was ok.

I was very good at it.

Not with Clark though. Something snapped with me on that day at the funeral home.

When I returned to the school after visitation, I tried to hold a meeting. I had to let my staff know that I was there for them and we would get through it all together.

All that came out of me was deep sobs.

I had finally broken.

That was the day the downward spiral began. I turned to alcohol for relief. Every single day became an obsession with the drink. I would grit my teeth and grind through the day so I could get home and numb the pain. Alcohol had become my only interest.

Recognizing this, I decided to take an early retirement. I realized that I could no longer offer the job what it needed. My students and staff deserved much better.

On my final day at work, I had an unexpected visitor. It was Clark’s mom. They had moved since the accident to escape from the painful memories, so I was a bit surprised by her appearance.

She looked much older and I could still see the grief in her eyes and the sorrow etched upon her face.

She wanted to thank me for everything I did for Clark and her family. She also let me know that Clark’s brother, Samuel, was doing much better and enjoying life again. Apparently, I had a long talk with him at the funeral parlor that she attributed to his resilience and happiness. In it, I had encouraged him to grieve, but also to recognize when to let go so he could enjoy a full and happy life.

I don’t recall that conversation very well, but it left a major imprint on his life. His mom explained it best in her message to me in a Thank You card.

“ The image of you bent down to check on sad, Samuel has been the most lovely image in my life.”

The little things we do in life that may seem insignificant or meaningless at the time, make the greatest difference.

After that unexpected meeting, something snapped again. This time in a good way. I decided it was time to follow Samuel’s lead.

To take my own advice!

I quit drinking cold turkey at that moment, and have not had a drink since that day.

Life does go on.

But only if you let it.