'She is no longer with us"...Six words I dreaded to hear. Nobody ever really thinks long and hard about losing someone, because the thought is often too unbearable. But losing someone you love, like this; it was a nightmare that came true.
My sister, Paulette, passed away at the age of 49, in 2023. Her battle with alcohol addiction had taken its toll in many ways - on her, on our family, on our mental health.. Some of it is still too hard to talk about, we are still processing and healing from it as a family, and individually. But, I can share what I saw, how it felt and how it has changed me today - because losing someone to alcoholism, they are the words that nobody ever wants to say.
Nobody ever thinks that once they start drinking, they are never going to be able to stop, do they? My sister, Paulette, had mild special needs. She was born premature and had mild autism, And she was more naive than your average teenager. However, these things would only become apparent after she was exposed to them. And this continued into adulthood.
Her emotional maturity didn't evolve, her innocence stayed. And as Paulette aged, some things stayed exactly as they were as if she was 13. And as she tried to find her way, with special needs that weren't acute, she didn't fit into the groups with disabled adults. And she struggled in groups with 'normal' adults.
The support was thin on the ground, she met some adults like her who enjoyed drinking too. It became their crutch, and as she fought for more independence, this meant my parents had to let go. And she would find herself people to drink with, to share her problems, to pass the hours. Plus, she had a lot of unhealed pain from past experiences. This caused her to turn to alcohol too.
I used to feel frustrated with her, angry and upset. Our phone conversations would consist of me saying please look after yourself better, can we find you a group, a course, whatever to stop you from going back to alcohol...
But with a feeling of not quite fitting in; I think I can understand better now.
I wanted my sister to have a healthy long life. I had always had an interest in fitness, but my mental health was suffering too from work and family stress, so I had taken up yoga. I shared some things with her, and she said she'd like to do more. Sometimes it felt like when she was with me, it was all going to be okay. But then when I left, it all completely changed. I could see how that self-regulation switch wasn't so sharp in some people. Or not there at all.
I was not prepared for what was about to come next over the next few years. And if I hadn't found yoga I probably would have gone off the rails.
My sister had been to hospital and put on medication for her liver, as it was in a very bad state. She was not eating well. Her health had deteriorated even more so. They said the drugs should help for a while...
Somehow, now on more medication than before for her liver and eating minimally, she made it through the next two years. Her quality of life is poorer than ever. And eventually talking therapy was prescribed.
Sometimes, it is with the greatest of will that you want to stop something. But without the right environment, support and discipline, you just can't. All of those things need to be in place.
I found something that replaced alcohol for me. Yoga. Unfortunately, it was too late for my sister.
So, when they asked me what her final wishes were - with tubes coming out of her nose, which I'd helped the hospital staff insert, so she could get some nutrients into her body, to help her possibly live longer; I realised then that it wasn't working.
Loss is like losing a limb and your head all at the same time. As you are trying to think and move into action, but you can't. The world moves forward, and you're stuck.
Paulette passed away on 6th Jan 2023.
Her funeral, carrying her coffin on my shoulders. All of it was a bad dream for me, I felt out of my own body for most of it. I went into a deep period of depression for the 12 months after.
I turned up to yoga classes, and often lay on the floor crying quietly. I continued to teach.
