The War In My Bones

His War

My story began long before I was a glimmer in my father’s eyes, on the bloody battlefields of World War II. Nazi shrapnel in his gut almost killed Pop. Then he came home and tried to finish the job. Pop never spoke of combat or his disfiguring wounds, other than to quip that he’d told the doctors to make him a couple of blondes out of his shattered ribs.

One day, Pop had the world by the tail – a decorated war hero and successful businessman with a beautiful family. And then one day, a case of whiskey in arm’s reach and a shotgun aimed at his front door. Woe was the poor soul brave enough to darken his door.

Once he sobered up, Pop left behind a life of service work and purpose, and a diving board on top of a cavernous bottle for me to dive into. In the shadow of his death, I inherited his battlefield. And when he died, I naively dove into the same whiskey bottle that he had clawed his way out of.

My War

I may have grown up around A.A. and been barely a teenager, but I had an intuitive knack for drinking damn near any cowboy under the table. One day, I’m a nerdy little redneck bookworm, escaping the world with a Judy Blume book and my German Shepherd. And then one day, I’m coming out of a week-long blackout, God knows where, having alcohol-induced seizures. After years of keeping distilleries afloat, I was sure the bottom of that bottle was to be my grave. After a few tries (maybe a few dozen tries) at sobriety, I serendipitously ended up in a tiny Austin A.A. meeting, seated next to Pop’s best friend.

I call a tiny town south of Austin home. And when my rambunctious, motorcycle-ridin’ cowboy husband and two rowdy rescue kitties aren’t underfoot, I’m busy writing and researching. I am a debut author, a closet writer for 50 years, and a helluva storyteller. I have over 25 years of sobriety, and work for the Texas Department of Criminal Justice in a women’s correctional facility, helping incarcerated women reenter society. My job reminds me almost daily of the serendipity in the universe – but for the grace of God, there go I.