THE WORST OF ME…THE BEST IN US
I died to myself and took my daughter down with me. My five and a half year old, love of my life daughter. June 30th, 2002. A Sunday night that forever changed our lives.
I was already on the road to self destruction. 30 plus years of drinking — a habit that progressed to an insane addiction I could not free myself from. The ravages of alcohol chipped away at my wholeness. My goodness. My motherly love.
Dragging that ball and chain infected my relationship with my husband, my family, myself. Looking in the mirror each morning - bleary eyed, swollen faced -weighed my heart with remorse and shame.
That fateful night was of my own making. I had the power to stop the insanity. Or did I? Maybe if I hadn’t started the morning getaway trip with a wine filled tumbler and the bottle next to my feet on the floor of the car, the outcome would have been one of joy.
Maybe if strapping my daughter into her car seat, excitedly sharing our plans for a beach day at a friend’s home, I could have realized that she was enough. The love of my life was enough.
But once I start drinking, I don’t stop. Continuing to imbibe throughout the day, getting drunker by the hour, the death knell tolled. I didn’t hear it. I couldn’t hear it.
Getting in the car again, after nine hours of drinking, I filled my tumbler with vodka this time, and a splash of something. I proceeded to drive home — completely loaded. Speeding, I missed the onramp and drove alongside the freeway recklessly, swerving up a curb.
Suddenly, the sound of shrill police sirens terrified me. Holy shit! What am I going to do?? Throwing mints in my mouth, I stashed the tumbler amongst bags and pulled over.
Needless to say, I failed the sobriety test miserably and the breathalyzer test showed that I was almost 3 times over the limit. I panicked, realizing that they could take my daughter from me. I pleaded with the officer to drive her to my friend’s home. Thank god, thank god he acquiesced.
Handcuffed, we were placed in the back seat of the police car. My daughter, seeing the “chains” on my wrists said, ”Mommy, those bracelets are loose, can’t you slip your hands out of them?”
I had to sit in the car as the police officer brought her to my friend’s door. Oh how my heart broke for my daughter. What the fuck did I do? What did you do, Sigute? I was petrified, not knowing what was going to happen.
What did happen that fateful night, was the death of my daughter’s innocence. The death of my soul — or so it felt.
The road to healing was long, arduous, painful. Our hearts cracked open many times as we used spiritual tools and therapy to mend the breaks. My getting and staying sober proved to be the most vital tool for repair.
“The Power of Repair”. I clung to that motto to help me become the mother my daughter deserved. Her eventual understanding of the disease of alcoholism and acceptance of my sobriety strengthened our bond.
She said the greatest gift she learned from this experience was forgiveness. Forgiveness. That took my breath away.
The worst of me has helped us reach the best in us. For this I am eternally grateful. For this I strive to be the woman God intended me to be.
-Sigutė Miller
