Joe H’s Heartbucket Story
Growing up “Hard Core”
My childhood was unconventional and it would have been even if my parents didn’t drink. But they did and long ago I stopped telling myself that my life would have been better if they weren’t alcoholics. I may still have gone to 14 different schools because we never stayed anywhere for more than one year. My father might have still been in prison for 7 years, and I may still have become an alcoholic myself.
Whenever I take my AA Birthday cake I begin my story with, “I was raised in a hard core alcoholic family – the start off the party laughing and end up fighting and smashing the furniture kind.” Because of that upbringing and the insight that comes with it, I thought I was an expert on alcoholism. No one would ever be able to tell me what alcoholism is; I lived with alcoholics and I knew exactly what they looked like. It wasn’t pretty and it didn’t look normal in any way.
My father was a binge drinker and got into trouble in the used car business. He was a slow learner and went to prison twice; the first incarceration was for a year when I was 4 years old. The second time he was gone for all my birthdays from the age of 7 until he came home when I was 13. My mother’s parents (my grandparents), were also alcoholic. My mother lived with her grandmother for a time when she was a child; her parents drinking and the chaos it caused had become too much for a child and she was taken away. My mother was a very sensitive woman who carried some painful memories of her childhood all of her life. Like so many of us, I believe she started to drink to self-medicate.
While my father was in prison, “hard times” hit my mother and I hard. We were on welfare, and our various homes were basic and small. During that time my mother would go to the bar and sometimes not come home until the next day. Occasionally she would bring home men and sometimes they would stick around for a while. I was an only child and I really felt alone – those men were, at times, welcome male role models for me. But it was also very confusing and even today that is a difficult part of my story. When my mother was on a drinking spree I would come home from school, cut the firewood, light the stove, and make my own dinner at night. In the morning I would make breakfast, and if there was enough food, lunch for school. I would ask my mom to stop drinking and she would for a while. But she would always start again and her drinking binges would inevitably end with even greater remorse and more tears. As a young child I thought that she wouldn’t stop drinking because she didn’t love me or care enough to stop. How wrong I was; when my own drinking became unmanageable, I understood the pain that my mother must have felt.
I was 13 when I had my first “pull” on a jug of wine and joined in on a “drinking party” with my mother, grandfather, aunt and uncle, I felt I had arrived. We bonded and laughed and we were a family. But the next day I helped pick up the pieces from broken mirrors and lamps and tried to straighten out the bent lamp shades and broken picture frames – the party had gotten out of control. And then the landlord said he had enough, the neighbours had been complaining again about the noise and the yelling late into the night. We were given our notice and we were moving, again.
I got married when I was 20 years old to a girl I knew in high school. Her family did not drink in the same way mine did – I had never been around such a normal and accepting family before and I loved it. I also turned my back on my own family. I didn’t see my mother at all for a few years, and the odd time when I did, she wasn’t doing well. We would get together for lunch or coffee and although she needed love and compassion, I was standoffish and judgemental. My mother needed help but I wasn’t able to give it to her. I regret that to this day because on June 4, 1980, my father picked me up at work to tell me my mother had been murdered. She was only 44 years old and she had been drinking with the wrong man. I never got the chance to say good bye to her.
And I knew that alcohol could deal that kind of a cruel blow because many years earlier, on Christmas Eve, my grandfather went missing at a drinking party. None of the guests knew it, but my grandfather had gone outside and passed out behind the back wheel of his car. When a man at the party volunteered to look for him, he decided to use my grandfather’s car. He backed out of the driveway and ran over my grandfather, killing him instantly. The driver was drunk too, and when he sobered up the next day his life had been changed forever. I learned early on in life what alcoholism looked like and it was ugly. I also learned that many alcoholics don’t die slowly through excessive drinking, they can die on any given day as the result of being in the wrong place, doing the wrong thing, at the wrong time.
In my late 20’s my own drinking had progressed and my wife had become concerned. She suggested I talk to my doctor about my binge drinking; I quite frankly was not concerned. After all, I knew what alcoholics were, and I wasn’t one. I had a job, a wife, a home, and for the most part we were happy. I didn’t smash furniture when I drank, I just didn’t always come home. In spite of my doubts, my doctor made a referral and I went to see a professional at a treatment centre. Even though I knew I was not an alcoholic, I took the alcoholism questionnaire presented to me anyway. Upon completion, the counsellor looked at the results and turned to me and said, “I don’t usually say this to patients, but based on your answers and your family history, you are probably an alcoholic.” To my surprise I accepted what he had just told me and I even felt a sense of relief. I asked him, “If I am an alcoholic, what should I do?” He replied, “Go to an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting, they will show you what to do.” So I did, and they did.
That was over 30 years ago. I have been sober for 25 of the last 30 years and during my “5 year break,” all the “yets” that hadn’t happened yet, started to happen. I left AA as a binge drinker and I returned to AA as a daily drinker who was unable to stop – surprise, it didn’t get any better! I have since learned that alcoholism is a family disease, that no one is to blame, and alcoholism isn’t a symptom of weak character. It is a sickness and the cure is the 12 Steps and a spiritual way of life. I will be eternally grateful to this program and the fellowship for this knowledge. My family was just like anyone else’s, or at least we tried to be. We loved, laughed, cried, celebrated birthdays, weddings, and graduations. We knew the joy of victory and felt the pain of loss. But many of life’s special moments were tainted and dysfunctional because alcohol had a grip on us. Alcoholism is a family disease and I only wish my own loved ones could have found Alcoholics Anonymous too.
Joe H
New Westminster, BC
Jeff’s Heartbucket Story
In Brief my claims are against Defective airbags, which have cost me a lot,from the low speed impact that deployed the airbag prematurely,and the airbag in question that deployed at a high enough temperature to burn my right hand which I still feel whenever I put my hand in my pocket,It feels like the skin on my hand is getting peeled off to this day,as well as I understand the airbag deployment should be cold to the touch. After losing my car to this incident, I got another car off the same dealer but I did not know at the time that the new car had much higher monthly payments than the Ford Taurus that I was in the accident with. As a direct result of the accident, I suffered a psychotic break that affected my ability to pay my bills, and the new car was repossessed. and thus sent me further down and affected my job which I was fired from, then because I did not pay rent I was evicted and had to live on the street with only my most precious possessions making it to a storage locker and leaving behind my bed (king size) my sofa&love seat,as well as various other objects that did not make it into the storage locker and some things that made it into the storage locker have been taken to the pawn shop for needed cash. The end result was that I no longer have a car,a home,and I was left with poor mental health, a veteran living in a homeless shelter ,on welfare,no car,no job. no home where I can cook my own food,instead of “shelter food” which is only filler and not nutritious, from all this stress I had my long hair break in half,leaving me with much shorter hair to my great dismay,as well as deep seated psychosis that has clouded my judgement with even the most trivial of situations etc. Personally, I feel that to make my life livable again I need to be compensated for all my losses which includes a car, a job,a home, household furniture,pots&pans, and various other kitchen,bath and bedroom items also as a result of me having this scenario enveloped my life I have anger issues that have resulted in me having fights (physical and verbal), I deserve to be treated like a human being, not like some homeless piece of trash that has no rights to basic human needs, and requirements [ including respect for a homeless veteran].
Before the accident in 2016 Jeff was working full time and had his own apartment and a good middle class life
The Heartbucket Tales www.heartbuckettales.ca
Jim’s Heart Bucket Story
Jim was born into the Baby Boom generation of the 1950’s. His parents were good people and had a small house in the north part of Toronto.
Jim’s dad was a pilot for the RCAF in World War 2. He flew bombers for the RAF in Great Britain. After the war the family grew. Four girls and two boys! The family was happy. Summer was time for trips to the cottage. Christmas was special and everyone had a good time.
Jim loved hockey. He watched Hockey Night in Canada Saturday nights with his dad and little brother. The Toronto Maple Leafs were even Stanley Cup Champions. And Tim Horton was a star defenseman and not a donut shop. Jim’s Heart Bucket was full
But there were dark clouds on the horizon. Mom and Dad liked to drink … too much. As the years went by the drinking increased. There were problems in the marriage and family
When Jim was 14 his parents separated. Everyone’s Heart Bucket was partially full (or half empty)
At 15 Jim had his first drink with friends. And got drunk and sick. And it turned out that was the beginning of over 20 years of drinking
His dad’s drinking continued and it was a downward spiral. He developed cirrhosis of the liver. And after years of suffering one day, when Jim was 24, he went to see dad and dad was lying dead on the floor of his apartment.
Unfortunately alcoholism is a family disease. Jim had also begun his alcoholic career. Drinking helped him to deal with grief, guilt, shame, anxiety and depression. His drinking also increased over time. But most of the time he looked ‘normal’. He worked. Even bought a car, a house and a business.
But finally things came crashing down. He lost everything. House, business, car and self esteem were gone. But it is darkest before the dawn. Losing everything was the bottom and opportunity to change
He met a good doctor. An addiction specialist. It seemed there were two choices. Suicide or treatment for his addiction. At age 42 Jim went to treatment for alcoholism and successfully quit
It took a lot of work and effort but life slowly got better. And many things have happened. Good things. Life is good now. Life is not perfect. But it is much better and he is much happier