Today is February 10th. My sisters’ Birthday. It should be reason to celebrate but it isn’t. This is the second Birthday that she won’t be present for. Last year she was in hospital after nearly freezing to death after falling down drunk in the snow. This year she is gone. She passed away from liver failure in September, three days after my mothers Birthday. I was really hopeful that she’d get better, that she’d realize she needed to get better. That she needed help.
We did try.
It wasn’t always this way.
She was my baby sister, for a few years, my shadow. She became her own person and was kind and generous to many. She had a great sense of humour, wry but caring.
Anyone who knows us, knows we were a tight family, one that partied together. If you were hanging out with the Weed’s you were guaranteed a great time. From Monday night darts that often turned into late night dance parties to Sunday Funday at our local watering hole, it was always a blast.
People age, things change. Priorities change but we always stuck together. As the boys grew up to be young men, the party continued, now with them along for the ride.
Those of you that knew Bethan know that she struggled with weight issues. A story that I shall not tell changed that. She joined Weight Watchers and became an ardent follower of them. She became a star of the group. She made her goal and became an example to all what could be achieved.
But something else happened as well.
For a while she kept the drinking to a minimum, but when she drank she would suddenly get angry or sloppily drunk. I chalked it up to her consuming like she was before but not having the constitution to deal with it any more.
I had my demons as well and was trying to be better but we were partiers so party we did.
In 2019 I took an opportunity to go work in the UK. The boys stayed with Bethan for a while after I left but both of them eventually moved out.
While I was away there were discussions and concerns raised about Bethan’s drinking and an intervention or two were planned.
Covid didn’t kill her but I’m sure it didn’t help. She lost her livelihood (as many others did) and turned even more to the bottle. It cost her her job of almost 20 years and cost her a few others after that as well.
During the clean up after my youngest son moved out there were almost 200 empty wine bottles stashed in the house. Four months later she fell in the snow and was hospitalized for 6 weeks, we found over 200 more.
We moved her to a new place and tried to give her a new start.
While she was recovering in hospital, she kept asking to go to Mexico or Vegas, all she wanted to was go back to party.
My last few interactions with Bethan were frustrating as I couldn’t understand how she couldn’t see what she was doing to herself. But I guess that’s the nature of addiction, you will do whatever it takes to get the high always at the expense of your health.
I still hoped she would get better, but she didn’t. She had moments of clarity, she was trying to get healthy, but she ended back on the booze and started smoking again. It was only a matter of time.
The day before she passed away a neighbour saw her out for a walk. She was better that day but it was not to last.
The day she passed, I left work early and stopped to take the following photo. A double exposure experiment that I promptly forgot I took. Foreshadowing at its worst.
When I got home, the phone rang and the world got a little bit darker.
In 1993 I had a dream that troubled me so much that when I woke up I wrote the following poem. I only ever shared it with Bethan until now. More foreshadowing with a bit of guilt.
I know that she needed to help herself and there wasn’t much anyone could have done without her understanding that but I guess it’s only natural to have that feeling of guilt.
Through it all and near the end, she could still smile, so I’ll keep that as a happy memory.
I’ll miss you forever.
