Witnessing Courage/Broken Chains

Last night as I meditated on J D Smith’s courage witnessed poetry challenge, I thought of my parents journey that started when I was 15. I was too tired to start writing then, but words, images and something similar to music regarding their courage lulled me to sleep. When I sat down to write today, two poems began to form. I can’t seem to merge or separate them completely. The first is general, a flash look at what I’ve witnessed over the years in the lives of so many. The second is specific to my family.
Part 1
we want a glorious recovery from addiction
one everyone will applaud
recognize for what it is
a Herculean effort to be normal
functional
not destroy our life one day at a time
watching it wither and fade
yellow roses from a funeral
grow moldy at the stem in dirty water
remember a life that could have been something great
not gone down the drain
yet those near us have often stopped watching
our decline
we don’t want to be one of those stories on the nightly news
that man who went crazy
woman who ran into a child and father
on her way home
from the bar
we don’t want to be the family that implodes
doesn’t make the nightly news
homeless people only hit the press in batches
over Holidays when sympathy brings advertisers
addiction day by day
a decline into hell
a soft bed of excuses
easy
comfortable
oversights
indulgences
avoiding responsibility
no one incident seeming foul enough to drown the ship
until one nearly does
the whole family dangles over a cliff
attached to the abuser
waiting to see
if daddy will survive this time
if mom paid the mortgage
light bill
will all the food in the fridge go bad
again
this time
no one is around to help
they’ve been around
in the past
waiting as friends and loved ones will
ready to lend a hand
offer support
an ear
a dollar
but that time has spent itself
wasted on emergencies created by
addiction
to alcohol
narcotics
sex
food
debt
poverty
or nothingness
an addiction to failure
not trying
when trying would nearly ensure success
success would be so foreign as to feel criminal
the children
life as usual
not what they want
all they know
easily carried for generations
blind and broken
until one person wakes up
lets up
gives up the mirage
instant comfort given
another bottle
deal
line
chance
injection
eating binge
one night stand
until one person lets go
a ghost of control
dares to look
face to face at their deadly chaos
into the faces of their children
husband
wife
sister
brother
mother
father
finally falls on their knees before… before… at least a bone deep knowing their way will only destroy and just maybe
before God
and begins to
climb
When I was 15, my parents embarked on a path of recovery that started by lifting the veil on generational insanity (through various programs) which later led to recovery from addiction to compulsive debting, fear, co-dependence and dry alcoholism (manifesting as a string of lost jobs and destructive rages).
Part 2
I wish I could say recovery was beautiful
a cinema climax
ultimate victory
following
scenes through time made
joyful
by musical accompaniment
I cannot
my parents faced their
demons of destruction
one day at a time
though the damage was done
our lives continued to outwardly crumble
the next four years
they would lose
their house
car
marriage
eventually
their lives made sense
were made whole
a beacon of light to countless others
but only after
years
painful lessons
laced with victories
few could see
years would pass before I understood
As my parents dug out
from the rubble
addiction left behind
day by day
year by year
I watched
12 years later
after finally landing
on my own
adult knees
face covered in shame
I would begin
struggle through
the same work
different details
only then would I know
because of them
I witness courage
every time
another human being
begins
to
recover