DRUNK BUT ALIVE

My undisciplined nature at once admired and resented Paul’s discipline. The day we were married he weighed 155 pounds. During our fifty + years together his weight varied only between 155 and 160. Every morning he weighed and if he was at 160 he curtailed his calories for the day.

He loved his bourbon and wine: one shot of bourbon (nursed for an hour) before dinner every night; one glass of wine with dinner. Without exception.

Not always without exception .  There was the regular meeting of long time friends who spent one night a week sharing a movie, snacks and wine. Those nights he had three or sometimes four glasses of wine.

Until that one night.

For over a year he had been holding death at bay. For over a year he had seen a steady decline. For over a year he had experienced a whittling down of his promised two years. That night one glass of wine led to a second, then to a third. Until he was free of his disciplined thought, free of his dread of dying, free of his normal inhibitions.

“You guys are my anchor,” he said with wavering voice. “It’s  all that keeps me going.”

Uneasy moments. Then to our car. “I’ll drive”, I said.

“You think I can’t drive? Well I can.”

The drive to our house, ten miles of a curvy narrow rural road, is demanding of any driver.  But he drove.  I sat erect, scared as he swerved at each curve, as he wandered out of his half of the road.

Not since my disastrous ‘getting saved’ religious experience had I believed in a god who would help if I asked. But not this night. This night I thought but dared not utter, ”God , let us get home in one piece and I’m yours.”

Without disaster we approached our last turn. Our mailbox. “I’ll check the mail,” he said. The side mirror smacked into the mailbox.  Then we came to our parking place. The side mirror again smacked into the post of the carport.

“Paul”, I said. “You’re drunk”

“So what?”  he said, “ If I am?  I’m not dead yet.”