Life has been throwing some curves, the culmination of them being that my 84-year-old mother checked herself in to a nursing home a couple of weeks ago. I made the 2.5 hour drive last weekend to visit and see how she's doing (quite well, frankly.)

In our conversations she sort of opened a door and I decided that this was the time to walk through it, so I asked her point blank, "Just how many alcoholics were there in our family anyway?" Her immediate response, lol, was to ask, "You aren't craving alcohol, are you?" So I took some time and explained to her what I know and have learned about this family disease and how it can span different branches of a family tree to touch everyone in one way or another.

Neither my parents nor my grandparents were alcoholics. However, move further into my grandparents' generation and, "wheeee dawgies!" as Jed Clampett might say. And the hillbilly reference is intentional, as it turns out my paternal great-grandfather was a moonshiner and one of my grandfather's brothers was a bootlegger (more on him later.)

My mother had an uncle who lived with them for a time in her childhood (couldn't keep a job) and she spoke of how she was too embarrassed by his behavior to invite friends over. My father's side of the family had an abundance of alcoholics: two uncles by blood and another one by marriage who was abusive to his wife (my father's aunt.) I also learned that my father spent his childhood summers at his grandfather's (the moonshiner) family farm, and while his grandmother was a strict disciplinarian, the rest of the family spoiled him rotten (mixed messages & triangulation, anyone?)

The upshot of all this information is that I am able to take some comfort in realizing that I come by my codependency honestly. Although I did not grow up with direct exposure to active alcoholism, the disease found me nonetheless, because that's how it operates. Because of this knowledge I feel like I'm more able to fix the blame for my suffering on the disease itself instead of my parents, because when I step back and take the long look, we were ALL victims of this family disease.

Oh, and about my great-uncle the bootlegger? He was illiterate - his father kept him out of school so he could make the deliveries. He married a woman who taught him to read and write, and generally turned his life right side up. He went on to become a minister. A testament to the power of love and what HP can do.