I'm glad you started this thread OP. My father was an alcoholic who hated Christmas, so drank even more during December to make himself feel better. There were always more arguments between him and Mum in December, partly due to his heavy drinking and foul temper, but also arguments about money, because Mum was a SAHM and had to ask him for every penny for presents and food, and he resented the additional expense. Poor Mum tried so hard to make Christmas a happy time, but Dad was difficult and grumpy, and found fault with everything. He also found fault with her cooking (she had a tendency to overcook things, but it was all edible and tasty, as far as I remember), but never helped her in the kitchen. I remember him saying angrily "Christmas dinner is supposed to be the best meal of the year, but in this house it's always the worst!" So nasty. When I married, I was glad to be free of the toxic atmosphere of my parents' house on Christmas day. We used to visit them for an hour or two on the day and take presents, but rarely invited them to us, because I could not face making the effort for a father who'd made so little effort for me, and had sabotaged so many of my childhood Christmases.
I hated watching my father get drunk, and witnessing all the arguments. I felt so sorry for Mum, because she tried so hard to get things right, but it was such an uphill struggle. In their final years, Dad ended up drinking a bottle of whisky a day, sometimes more, while Mum sank into depression and lethargy. Dad developed dementia, which Mum had little sympathy for, because she believed it was drink induced. I think that drink may have played a part. When Dad's dementia progressed and he had to go into a care home, he was always asking after Mum, and wanting her to visit him. She was relieved to be rid of him, and barely visited. I was stuck in the middle, trying to do what was right for both of them, so I occasionally persuaded Mum to visit him, while totally understanding why she didn't want to. A lot of the time I lied to him about why she didn't visit him. He remembered their marriage through rose/dementia tinted spectacles, and forgot what an abusive selfish nightmare of a husband he'd been to her. I wasn't inclined to remind him - he was just a frail old man by then. He mellowed a bit as the dementia took hold, and occasionally showed me a little affection, which was a pleasant change from the indifference I'd received from him for most of my life.
Mum died first. I found it so hard to continue visiting him after her death, partly because he kept forgetting that she'd died, and asking how she was (which meant I had to tell more lies, to spare his feelings), but also because part of me resented that he was still alive, but she was gone. My poor Mum put up with so much crap from him, then he got to outlive her. I felt that by rights he should have died from liver failure years ago, then she could have had a few decent years left. I know that alcoholism is a disease and I shouldn't judge him... but I can't help feeling angry that his love of drink ruined so much of my Mum's life. Dad died a few months after Mum. Despite everything, I did grieve for my father's loss, but not half as much as I did for Mum.
Having an alcoholic parent sucks, especially at Christmas. I still hate being around drunk people, and am indifferent to alcohol myself. Which is just as well, considering that I probably carry the alcoholism gene.