The sky has cried for the past two days as my peers and myself mourn a loss of a friend. My day time job is to hand people the bottle of poison which we call “spirits”. My job is also to console these same people by listening to their problems and troubles. Many walk in with the inner demons inside tearing at their hearts and breaking down their health as they try to gain a glimpse of peace through alcohol. Starting a job like this, you have the perception that these people are customers, but you quickly learn that they are so much more than that; they become your friends and often times like family.
This particular person was a good man, a kind man and had an one-of-kind personality and sense of humor. There are endless stories that tell the tale of his comedic actions and sayings. What most didn’t see were his cries for help, the trials of regret and his humor covering up a darker side. I learned after his passing that he really legitimately cared about my well being, which makes me miss him so much more. Towards the end the laughter turned to turmoil and his favorite song for me to play over the shuffle was, Whiskey on my breath. The lyrics matched him completely.
My customers tend to meet often as a group to uplift each other through this thing we call life. Each day is full of laughter and roasting one another to bring light into the room. All of that is fun and exciting, but it’s really those one on one moments I long for. In those moments, they become vulnerable and I learn more about the demons inside. So, in a group of his peers, he was the highlight of the night. However, alone, he was a man of pain.
What was really great about this man was that he was a father and grandfather. Even through his comedic covered agony, he always talked about his children and his grandchildren. He was very proud and loved them so. It was because of the continous fight and love from his daughter that he finally decided to become a sober man. A sober man he became, but three months later he lost the fight in health.
As unfortunate as it is, there are many lessons to learn from his story. That help is out there, the bottle never takes the pain away, you can always have a second chance in life and many chances with God, and no matter what always fight for the love of your children (and grandchildren).
Farewell my friend,
Thanks for the laughs, the talks and the good deeds you had done for my son and I. I know that when you rose to those pearly gates of Heaven that you met Jesus without the Whiskey on your breathe, but with love in your heart and the grace of God. You will never be forgotten. I surely will miss you until we meet again.