Family Updates + sobriety

The dress, the drunk, the past

This afternoon I dug through my closet to find my plastic box of "nice clothes" that I don't wear anymore. I wanted to poke through for a post that's going up tomorrow morning over at All Kinds of Pretty. The business casual outfits of yesteryear. Dress pants and skirts, and a few evening dresses that haven't seen the light of day {or restaurant} for years.

And I found the dress. The one I was wearing when I met my husband. We worked at the same company, but in different departments, and a mutual friend introduced us at a holiday party {the event of the year where we worked... }

March 24, 2010 032

Since I've been so very honest on this blog, truthfully I don't remember much of that evening. I remember being giddy, sipping on endless glasses of white zinfandel, and meeting Lucas. I don't remember what we talked about, or how I managed to keep his interest over the blaring dj and open bar {though I suspect the dress and my charming nature had a little something to do with it ... } But I remember knowing I was going to marry him. Those first moments, there was something in his eyes. Kindness and safety; meeting him was almost like coming home. And I remember standing outside with him and a friend of mine as we waited for our ride. Lucas waited with us, ever the gentleman, and we huddled close to keep warm as it was the middle of January in Salem Massachusetts. He kissed me goodnight and then didn't talk to me for two weeks... {because he was worried about the gossips in my department... whatever... at least he finally came around... but that's another post!}

I hate that I don't remember more of that night.

And I hate that I was that kind of a drunk. The black out, forget conversations and try to piece together the happenings of the night before kind of drunk.

Because there are so many nights I would have liked to remember just a little more clearly.

March 24, 2010 033

Someone at an AA meeting told me "you can look at the past, but don't stare." I'm trying not to stare. Very, very hard. But sometimes it can't be helped. There are moments where I want to reach back and knock myself over the head with whatever wine glass I was holding at the time, the bottle I was pouring.

But I can't. So from here, standing in my bathroom wearing a dress of yesteryear, I'm trying to picture a date night in the near future. With low lights and a red dress. Diet coke on the rocks and lobster ravioli, please and thank you.

alcoholism, good, love, marriage, memories, Room, and more:

The dress, the drunk, the past + sobriety