My father died this week. He was an alcoholic for around 15 years, if not longer. During that time he lost his business , his house, his wife and friends. As his daughter, I'm next of kin so tasked with sorting out his life, as it was.
His rental flat is covered in urine, blood and shit. His mattress is drenched in urine. His bed sheets caked in blood from where he fell over in a drunk stupor. He has defecated on the sofa and carpet. He lay dead for 4 days before he was found. He spent the last 6 months in his flat , refusing visitors and ordering wine off Amazon.
We are left cleaning this up and sorting his estate out. Managing the horror and guilt.
This is what happens.
This is the reality of the end.
You may well ask where my sibling and I were . Why didn't we step in? Keep his flat clean? Look after him?
Quite simply, if he'd moved in with me, it would be my house he shat, pissed and bled all over. It wouldn't have stopped him. He'd just do it a different address.
He was impossible. Lies, lies, lies and more lies as alcohol consumed the man that he was, and left an empty shell.
This time last year he was what they call a :functioning alcoholic '. Believe me, there was no functioning at the end.
It happens quickly. Creeps up on you one drink at a time.
Any of you who have a drink problem are on the journey to this end. This is the only conclusion unless you stop..