Our Communities – What ALL Goes On?
We see the obvious in our community, in our neighbourhood, and in our daily lives. Yet, do we admit what happens behind the scenes – in the homes of our neighbors – in the shadows of what we don’t see and understand? There is a desire for honesty, harmony, and reunion in the individual, the family, the community, and the world. Honesty comes from the truth, truth comes from experience, and experience changes lives. Not everyone learns from other peoples experience; someone has to be those other people.
I worked for a unionized company in British Columbia and was striking for better wages and benefits. I spent eight hours a week on the picket line and collected my strike pay. The rest of the time I spent drinking, trying to forget my problems.
My wife would take our children and seek safety on many occasions. My family begged me to get help. I made excuses and tried to convince them otherwise. My father, a kind and loving man, wanted to believe me. His family's welfare always came first.
I phoned them daily with promises I couldn't keep. My loving mother would say, “All I want is my son back.” Burdened with guilt I'd tell them to leave me alone. What I did not know was that my addiction followed its own path. I wallowed in self-pity and fear haunted me.
August 03, 1983. This morning I headed to my workshop to spend time drinking alone. I just received a letter from my parents and was nervously eager to read it. I walked from the house and FEAR SPOKE TO ME.
"She's getting ready to take the children and leave. You're losing your family."
Taking the letter from my pocket I fumbled to get it opened.
Dear Mervin,
My heart is
heavy as I write this letter; yet I know I must. Don't phone us any more – don't come home any more. What you’re doing to you and
your family is killing us. Please leave us alone!
Love, Dad
Terror shot through me as my greatest fear became real. I rushed to the house to find it empty – they were gone. Exploding into a rage, the kitchen table flew, food and dishes scattered everywhere. "God, please help me stop!" Picking up an armful of clothes I threw them into the fireplace setting them on fire. Out of control I rushed out to search for my family. Not finding them, I drove back to the house and looked on in horror as flames leapt from the roof. My motorcycle couldn't stop fast enough as I jumped off and ran toward the house. Crawling on the roof with a garden hose, I hollered at my neighbors to help – as if they were somehow to blame. If ever I craved attention, I had it now!
Morning approached as fear completed its cancerous spread. I thought of the two bottles of wine in the fridge. The fridge shouldn't have burned! I tried to think of excuses and explanations as scripts reeled through my mind. A constable tells me the sergeant wishes to speak to me. I try to act brave through my fear. As I step into the office there is a sense of peace – it is in the room. I turned toward the sergeant and he asked me to sit down. His voice sounded kind. I looked in his eyes as he offered me a gentle smile. This moment quieted my mind.
“Do you remember coming in last night?”
"Not much," I say.
"Do you recall phoning your father?" I cringe.
"I spoke to your dad after taking the phone from you –he sounded worried."
I nodded as tears filled my eyes.
"Mervin you are a sick man – It is men like you who hurt my police officers."
My throat hardened – fighting back my tears; his words found their way home. Anger has always been my response to pain – I felt paralyzed. Truth spoken with love is power and what happened next changed the course of my life.
"Mervin, please listen to me – I am like you."
I drifted back to my childhood dream of being a policeman. Enlisted and application accepted, I turned it down. This man was who I wanted to be. Then, he told me he was an alcoholic and that he had been sober for ten years, and probably did worse things than me. I felt myself wanting something he had. The script I searched for earlier flashed in my mind. "This is your last chance - TAKE IT!"
A door closes and a door opens. The sergeant began to talk about what happened to him. I listened as tears rolled down my cheeks. My fear gave in to the love he shared with me. Time seemed to stand still. I don't remember all that was said, but when I left his office I knew what I wanted to do.
As I walked into my house, I looked over the wreckage of my last drunk. This would be my road out of hell. Taking the two bottles of wine from the fridge, I poured them down the sink. That was August 4, 1983.
Much has changed since that day. My past no longer haunts me; it is my gift. Giving up that hopeless struggle became the beginning of my journey home. A few years later I was elected as an Alderman in that community and served on numerous committees and appointed positions for 6 years.
I was walking with my father 2 years from when he wrote me his letter. Burdened with guilt, hardly able to get out my words, I told him how sorry I am for the way I hurt him. He looked at me through his twinkling eyes and said, “I forgave you the day you quit.” From that day on I knew he was proud of me. He is my greatest hero.
Fourteen years later, on May 14, 1999, he was in Saskatoon hospital having had an operation. In a week I was to drive him home, and looked forward to spending time together. On that day, I appeared in court in British Columbia helping a man get a chance for a reduced sentence for his alcohol and drug related crimes. The judge issued him a probated sentence conditional to his commitment toward recovery. He praised myself and two other men for our commitment and support to this man. He touched my heart.
I was so thrilled by this outcome that after leaving the courtroom I hurried out to phone my dad. I told him of the judge’s statement, comments, and kind words to me! My dad said, “Mervin, I always knew you could do it.” A few days later he passed on.
Today I paddle in different waters and it’s important what I pass on. I don’t have to live in the shadow of my past, so I tell what happened to me – the truth keeps me free. And, I’ll always remember my father’s last words; they are the legacy he left for me.
Growing up in Saskatchewan
Competing with my sister on who will count the most returning crows is always the first
sign of spring. Bringing home boxes of new baby chickens, talking to turkey gobblers, and parachuting from the top of a tractor wheel.
To breathe the fragrance from the freshly turned earth awakened after a prairie-lightening storm. Getting lost at night in the middle
of a grain field is what growing up in Saskatchewan is all about.
