Closer to Love



I feel like I should start this blog post with a disclaimer. A disclaimer that this is the single most personal post I've ever written. It isn't easy to write so I can't imagine it will be easy to read, but writing is my therapy, this blog is my story, and somewhere at some point maybe someone who is struggling will read this and they'll find some sort of peace in my words. I've written about defining moments in my life and how they changed me and they're usually the happy ones. My husband, Mason, personal triumphs...they're a huge part of who I am. This defining moment(s) doesn't just involve me though. And to be honest I'm not usually in the business of publishing private family struggles on my blog, but I also feel like I have the ability to find some release for myself. More importantly, I feel like I could be in the position to help. And didn't someone once say you can find strength in your vulnerability? I guess we'll find out!

I will never forget the afternoon in 2007 I sat on my counselor's couch and finally said the words out loud. "My Dad is an alcoholic." That just hit you in the face, didn't it? I know. It is still hard to say/type/write/hear those words. Some of you reading this know that my family has struggled with this, some of you will be surprised to read it. After the moment of saying it out loud happens, you realize that there's a force in your life and you can no longer pretend it isn't staring at you from the corner. You can no longer hide. But that is exactly what our family did for six long years. We became award winning actors at covering up our private hell. I watched, completely helpless, as my Dad made choices that broke my heart, broke my sister's heart, and broke my mom's heart. It is a downward spiral and there are times when you wonder if the spinning will ever stop. This horrible disease takes a hold of someone you love, digs its claws in, and you're left standing in the wreckage. In the end my Mom couldn't help someone that didn't want to be helped and she left. Even at 27 years old your parents divorce is horrible and gut wrenching and heart breaking...even if you know it is the best possible thing that can happen. It is even harder when people respond "Oh my god, your parents? Your family was so happy." We were. I had an ideal childhood filled with happy memories and love and security. That is the power of alcoholism.

We had a ray of hope in 2012. My Dad entered Alcoholics Anonymous and we started to see his kind, compassionate heart come back. He was healthy, he was on the path to being happy, and he was so invested in my life, my pregnancy, my husband's career, my sister and her life. This may have been the time some of you learned about his addiction. He was so proud of his recovery and eager to share it with those that loved him. We were so grateful for the gift of our Dad back, but pretty soon after he got his six month chip it all came crashing down again. A late night phone call of someone seeing Dad in a bar, a heart breaking phone call to him the next morning which brought the short and devastating words I thought we'd never hear. "Yeah I had a couple of drinks, what's your point?"

The next year was a tough one. It was mixed with long periods of not talking, reconciliations, attempts at a relationship, but the disease was rearing its head and there were things that, in the end, I couldn't ignore or mentally handle anymore. 2013 was hard. Really hard. Then, on a cool fall afternoon, sitting at my sister's kitchen table, in a sixteen minute phone call it was all over. I told my Dad I wanted a relationship with him but it had to be a healthy one. I told him I wanted him to be a grandfather, and I wanted him to be in my life and in Mason's life. I also told him alcohol couldn't be a part of that. He said it would be easier to bow out of my life. It would be easier to walk away. And that was the last time I talked to my Dad.

Al-Anon calls this Detachment with Love. The literature states that detachment is neither kind nor unkind. It does not imply judgment or condemnation of the person or situation from which we are detaching. Alcoholism is a family disease. In Al-Anon you learn nothing you say or do can cause or stop someone else’s drinking. You are not responsible for another person’s disease or recovery from it. Detachment allows us to let go of our obsession with another’s behavior and begin to lead happier and more manageable lives, lives with dignity and rights, lives guided by a Power greater than ourselves. You learn you can still love the person without liking the behavior.

I can tell you Detachment feels nothing like love. It is the single most excruciating thing I've ever done. It is a daily internal struggle with questions like "Am I making the right choice?" "Could I live with this decision if something happened, god forbid?" "Am I doing more harm than good?" "How does this show him I love him?" "Does he know how much I love him?" Deep down he does. I know in my heart that man knows how much I love him. He knows my sister and I love him with everything we are, but watching him slowly kill himself is something I can't do. I refuse to enable his drinking. I refuse to subject my son or my husband to that atmosphere. I couldn't let alcoholism take me and my family with it. After my Dad started drinking again I called his sponsor. His words have stayed with me as I travel this journey. "It's a roller coaster ride Jules. You gotta decide when to get off."

I got off six months ago. Six months of not having my Dad in my life. Six months of Mason not having his Granddaddy. Six months of the little girl inside me crying and begging for her Dad to fight for her. Six months of silence. 

So, why now? Why share my story and my struggle with you? To be honest, I'm not quite sure. I've been told some people disagree with the way that my family is handling the situation. Some of you may think we are keeping our son from his grandfather. Some of you may think my sister and I are not supportive. And some of you may think the decision was made out of anger. It wasn't my decision, and it certainly has never come from a place of anger. Alcoholism is a really ugly disease, and it makes people do and say really ugly things. But in the end, we're all doing the best we can.

I have to say thank you to my mom and my sister for graciously allowing me to post this. This isn't a journey any of us have walked alone. I have two amazing role models in them and they give me strength when I can't find it. I can tell you without James Howard Green I wouldn't have come through this with the dignity and grace that I have. He makes me a better person and I'm so thankful he's the rock in my life. He keeps me grounded and anchors me during life's chaos. And of course I'm so thankful for my silly, funny, crazy, spirited, kind little Mason. He is the best part of both of us and we are blessed we were chosen to be his parents. That's what we're choosing to focus on these days.

I'm so excited for the day my Dad calls to tell me he's started the recovery process again. I can't wait to be his biggest cheerleader. I pray for that every morning when I wake up and every night when I go to bed. So if you think I'm a callous person making the wrong choice, just know every decision I have made was not made lightly and it was, in the end, made out of love for my husband, my son...and my Dad.

Lots of love,

Julie xoxo