The House That Made Us

TW: drug abuse

The House That Made Us

1970

It hurt. Everything hurt. When we were kids, it was easy. We fell in love and life was simple. Now we are grown and everything is complicated. I wanted to stop her from leaving this house that we made a home. Stop her from walking away from the memories we shared together, but the words could not come out of my mouth. Sherrie had left, she was gone and all I had left of her was the smell of her hair on her pillow that she laid her head on every night next to me. We talked about the future and the three kids we would eventually have. Our dreams had been shattered, due to the drugs and alcohol that I couldn’t stay away from. What once was just a habit of doing every now and then, became a three times or more a day occurrence. The white powder and the unprescribed pills made me feel that I was invincible, like nothing could touch me. Little did I know that when I felt invincible, Sherrie felt invisible. I had chosen drugs over her and I didn’t know how to stop.

2001

As I stepped inside I could smell the same smell I grew up smelling. Cigarettes and vanilla. I told myself I would never come back to this house, that what happened in the past stayed in the past, but here I was with a suitcase in my hand and a father with lung cancer to look after. Being the oldest and the only one without a family to take care of meant I had no choice, I had to be the one to take care of my father. Seeing my father weak was nothing new. I grew up seeing him on the floor more than on his feet. He would always say to me, “Danny, don’t be like me when you grow up.” Those words echoed in my head daily, and every chance I got I proved I was nothing like him.

1970

Seeing her smile was the only thing that kept me going. She was glowing as she touched her stomach, dreaming of holding our child in seven months. It took a month for Sherrie to return to the house, she said she wanted our child to have both parents, but only would stay if the drugs would leave. I was still having trouble adjusting to being sober. At night I would often wake up in a pool of sweat searching and wanting anything that would take me away from reality. Luckily cigarettes took the edge off whenever I craved a bump. I could do this. I could be a good husband and father. I have to be. My child deserves a sober parent.

2001

I walked into my old room. It was exactly as I left it. Baseball cards were still out, high school yearbook was still on the nightstand, it was just how I left it on the night I got into my old rusted car and drove down the city streets toward a brighter future. I sat on my bed hearing the familiar creak I heard every night in my teens. I was back home, but this time I felt like a visitor, it wasn’t my home anymore, nor will it ever be again. My father though frail and weak seemed like a different man then I grew up with. Time or the disease had changed him. He talked to me, he asked how my life was going, things he never cared to ask me when I was living under his roof. Though I appreciated his effort, I couldn’t help but see the image of him passed out drunk on the floor as my mother screamed trying to wake him. He chose drugs over us and that wasn’t something I could easily forgive him for.

1973

He looks just like me. My second child, Charlie. His grip around my finger made me remember the feelings I experienced when I held my first child, Danny in my arms. I am a father of two boys. Boys that depended on me to be the best dad I could be. Though I have fallen off the wagon twice in the last year, Sherrie had not given up on me, she stuck by and picked me up every time I felt too weak to carry on. Man, I love her even though I know I don’t deserve her. Danny looked up at me,only two years old, but he is wise beyond his years and looks just like Sherrie with his auburn hair. “Danny, you’re a big brother now. Make sure you always watch over him. He’s going to need you.”

2001

Charlie’s baby blanket. I found it today, folded up in a drawer in my father’s room. My father said holding the blanket felt like he was holding Charlie again. The image of the blanket didn’t bring me comfort, just memories. I remember covering Charlie’s eyes with his baby blanket whenever my father pumped drugs into his veins while my mother worked a late shift. I wanted to spare Charlie from that image, I wanted to protect him. Charlie of course grew up seeing the world as an amusement park. Always positive and believing that one day our father will change and be better. Charlie was now married and a father to twin girls. Though we grew up in this house together and had the same blood in our veins, we couldn’t be more different. Charlie had his life together, and I was always letting the past dictate my future. 

1983

The bright light shined bright through the curtain in my room. My brain felt foggy. I had just returned home yesterday from the hospital. I had overdosed, and unlike the last time I ended up in the hospital, I wished I had died there. As I blink a few times I see my four year old daughter, Chastity asleep next to me.Tears welled in my eyes seeing her long eyelashes rest above her cheeks. I was a failure as a father and a husband . They didn’t deserve this, my kids deserve a dad who was addicted to coffee and sports, not one who was addicted to drugs. Sherrie is a saint for all the chances she gives me. She is always giving and I am always taking. I thought to myself I can be better, the same thought that always crosses my mind every time I fail them. I felt sweat drip down my temple and my hands began to tremble, the need for drugs hit me once again and again I didn’t feel strong enough to tell my body no.

2001

My father coughed into his hand and began to wheeze. Hearing the sound made my ears cringe. I have been living with my father for five days now and have felt closer to him than I have in years. He indeed seemed like he changed. He was better. The questions he asked about Charlie,Chastity, and I seemed like he was trying to be the father we always wanted and needed him to be. I wish it happened sooner, and it didn’t take a diagnosis to make it happen. 

1990

It ached. My heart ached. Sherrie, my wife, my supporter had walked out of this house with Charlie and Chastity following behind her. I messed up and she was tired. Tired of my excuses, tired of me, tired of the drugs. I couldn’t blame her, I was tired of me. Danny left a week before, he didn’t even say goodbye to me. He wanted out of this house, he wanted away from me. I was alone with only the memories of my mistakes to keep me company.

2001

He said he was sorry, my father for the first time said he was sorry. A word I ached to hear from my father for years. I sat on the edge of his bed and watched him sleep as his breathing staggered out of his mouth. I looked at his nightstand to see a picture of my mother on top of it. My father told me before he went to bed that he never got over her, that the kind of love he had for her was a lifetime love and he regretted every day that he took it for granted. My mother eventually remarried to a man that worshipped the ground she walked on. She deserved a man like that, though when I visit their house I often see her staring out the living room window as if she is waiting for someone to walk up. I guess a lifetime love never fades away. 

…

Charlie and Chastity showed up today with their kids and partners. My father got to see his two grandchildren for the first time. The little girls fell asleep in his frail arms as a tear escaped his eyes. It was the first time I had ever seen my dad cry from happiness. I wanted time to slow down, I wanted to go back in time. I wanted things to be just like this forever. 

Written By:

CJ Kennedy