Grandma Henke

I was a young girl the first time I met Aunt Olive and her appearance and  deep, raspy voice frightened me.   She wore a loose, sleeveless shift that hung on her shoulders and neck but had to stretch over her swollen stomach.   She didn’t have teeth, her face was puffy and there were swollen bags beneath her eyes.   Her hair was matted and dirty  and she smelled strongly of smoke and a combination of alcohol and her filthy room.    She had a terrible rumbling cough and lived alone in a run down motel room with her little dog and her alcoholism.     She was drawn to me because I reminded her of her sister …. Dad’s mother who died when he was 3 years old … but she frightened me at first.  Once I learned her bark was worse than her bite and saw past her rough exterior and surroundings we became friends.     

Dad had come prepared with garbage bags and cleaning supplies and we cleaned up her room as bet we could.   He went and got her some food, and Mom talked her into the shower and washed her hair.    I could tell she loved my father but during the entire visit she cussed him for interfering in her personal business. She didn’t really mean it, she loved Dad and the attention, but she had to put up a fight.    Her cutting tongue and stubbornness separated her from her family off and on for many years.   By her choice, she pretty much lived alone.    Sometimes we wouldn’t know where she was for months at a time because that is how she wanted it.    Mom and Dad saw her oftener, but I bet I didn’t see her more than a dozen times over the years.

Dad showed me a picture of a beautiful woman walking along a busy sidewalk in downtown Salt Lake, probably in the 1920′s.   The woman in the picture had a confident air, stylishly coiffed hair, and a winning smile.    She looked like a model in her classy, business suit.    I couldn’t see any resemblance between the woman in the picture and the Aunt Olive I knew, but it was her.    At that time of the picture, she would have been in her late 20′s,  and was a successful business woman and a concert pianist.       Eventually, alcoholism robbed her of everything … her profession, her talents, her family, her dignity, her freedom to choose, and her hope.    She lived more than half of her life alone and sick, living in squalor and filth.

Thinking of Aunt Olive’s life makes me sad even now.     She paid a heavy price for her substance abuse, as did her children and grandchildren.   She caused a lot of heartache to her family and herself.      Because my father stayed involved in her life, she made a big impact on us kids.  None of us wanted to end up like her.   Substance addiction is hereditary but you don’t know you have it until it is too late.    Don’t take the chance.

Technorati Tags: alcoholism, substance abuse, drug addiction