Hey! My Glass is Empty!

Like most Australians, my childhood was fuelled by alcohol in all its ugly glory. A slab of beer was the staple of the weekly grocery shop and only consumed by the men. Wine was a luxury and only for the women. And gay men. Of which we knew very little.

Sunday afternoons were spent down at Gladesville Hospital Oval with dozens of other families where a huge marquee was set up as the “bar” and the queue for a sausage on a roll was longer than the queue for a new Apple iPhone. The dads would play cricket with a can of beer in their hands while the mums would chat and gossip on the picnic rugs in the shade drinking wine. The kids would spend the day exploring the lush bamboo forest, swimming in the pool and rolling up and down the terraced grass fields.

At the end of the day, everyone would pile into the family cars while one drunk parent drove home. Almost every Sunday ended in agony for our family, the graphic details of which are best left unsaid. Excess, abuse, violence, and shame were a part of my childhood, and while they have formed a strong character in me, they remain a painful memory of what alcohol can do to a family and a community.

As a teenager I binged. I look back at this time and cringe at the image, but I’m sure I’m not alone when I say that the $3 Donello Lambrusco made for what we thought was an entertaining night. The stories of a night out would last a week until the next Blue Light Disco when it would all happen again. In fact, I don’t  think I can remember a time when we would go out and not try to get drunk. (ok, so there were a few nights when we faked being drunk, but that being said - they were very few).

So, do I still drink now? You betcha. I love a glass of rosé or a glass of bubbles when I go out. I’m a  positive person and a social animal, I have a fantastic life and I don’t have to look far to find an excuse to celebrate. AND I have a wonderful circle of friends who are like minded. I fact, I have a few circles of friends who are happy to partake in celebrating life with me. I’m a controlled drinker and I don’t really get drunk; I can stop at one glass of wine or champagne if I want to, and in fact if I went to dinner and there was no wine, it wouldn’t be an issue for me. Thats not true for many people I know, including some people very close to me.

My dad hasn’t had a drop of anything alcoholic for over 30 years. My brother hasn’t had a drink in 12 years. My mum occasionally will have a glass of wine on Christmas Day but will stop at one. And my sister is trying to give it up for good. She’s been open and honest on her reasons why; she doesn’t want her children growing up with an image of their mother with a glass of wine in her hand all the time. It’s a noble reason and I’m behind her 100%.

This is why I’m committed to doing Ocsober. For my children. If my sister is brave enough to denounce alcohol forever, then I think I can manage one month to show my children that I can give up the booze and still have a brilliant time. An added benefit of doing Ocsober is that I want to raise money to put towards alcohol education for our schools. This is a community issue, and as part of the community I want to do something to support the cause - to educate our kids.

Thank you for reading my blog. If you feel strongly about educating our kids on the effects of alcohol and are able to donate towards this cause, please click on this link and the “donate” button.

Thanks.

Lisa

http://fundraise.ocsober.com.au/Lisa_Fryar

The Day I Grew a Tail

A very wise lady told me that it takes 12 months to grieve before you can start on the road to healing. I think she might be right. 

Twelve months allows for - "this time last summer, this time last birthday, this time last year...." where every memory is a painful one because it was the last "time" with someone special who is no longer there. Twelve months is enough time to go through the five stages of grieving. Denial. Anger. Bargaining. Depression and finally, acceptance. 

This time last year I started along my road of the grieving process. Waking up to a missed call, listening to my voicemail with an urgent message to call back, and finally making that call to learn that my beautiful friend was gone. This moment is frozen - one of those moments in your life where you will always remember where you were and what you were doing when you learnt the news. I was still in bed and it was a Sunday morning, my chest felt tight, I couldn't breath and I had to give the phone to my husband, I couldn't bear to hear the details. It hurt my heart. I cried deeply until there was nothing. 

The days that followed are a blur of nothing. The weeks became clearer and the months became kinder as I started to process and realise I would never see, hear, sing with, dance with, sms, email, laugh with (and at) my friend. We would never again sneak out for a chai latte and walk around the block chatting about our travels, lives and loves. We would never again have our little "in" jokes together and laugh hysterically at nothing. He will never call me at random times just to see how I am doing. No more lychee lollies and chrysanthemum tea. No more anything. 

I've accepted that he's gone, and yet I feel him with me all the time. 

My birthday was last week and he was there with me, with every glass of wine, sake and espresso martini. When it was time to leave the celebrations and collect my son from school camp, I jumped in a taxi and looked at my phone messages. He was always the first to send me a birthday mesage, sometimes he sang on my voicemail. I had a little "cry" in the taxi which surprised me, it was the first time in months that it hurt to think of him. The tears didn't last long, but I knew I had to wash my face before standing in the playground with the other parents, so I detoured into the local pub to use their facilities. 

On leaving the bathroom, I noticed people looking at me but dismissed it as being paranoid re the afternoon birthday martinis. We (my husband and I) walked the three blocks to the school and I still felt something or someone with me - following closely behind. It was such a weird feeling and I couldn't quite work out what it was. We reached the playground with plenty of time before the kids bus arrived back and that's when I saw my shadow - and what had been following me from the pub. 

Six metres of a toilet paper tail tucked into my stockings. **

Thats when I laughed, and I felt him beside me laughing as well. 

I miss you Whitey. Every. Single. Day. 

L xx

** Disclaimer - I am known to exxagerate. It wasn't 6 metres, probably no more than 3.5m.