Christmas Party, Birthday, Relapse.

This is an excerpt from The Hidden Story that I was writing last year, when I attempted to piece together the path of Nick’s addiction. It was a cathartic process. I can see it more clearly now. It was all happening right under my nose for years. Hidden from view.

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He chose to go to an AA meeting instead of our street Christmas party in December 2018. Which was fine. It was good.

We live on one of those streets that gets closed off to traffic on a December afternoon and all the neighbours, or at least, the socially inclined neighbours, meet on a bridge that sits on top of the canal that runs through our suburb.

The sun shines, sausages are cooked, drinks are flowing, and a local band plays tunes we dance too.

It’s a great event.

And to be honest, I was fine with Nick not being there.

The neighbours didn’t really know what to do with us. This was our second Christmas party since we’d moved in about 14 months earlier.

I learnt very quickly that if someone invites you ‘over for a drink’ you shouldn’t say “we don’t drink, but we’d love to come over!”

Because the invite never arrives.

I had started to drink socially when Nick wasn’t there, but I’d been sober in solidarity with him for a long time. I had a beer in the sunshine that afternoon and it felt great.

It was an exceptional afternoon - weather wise. The kids were playing with friends and climbing trees and our side of the street won of the tug-of-war. I felt so lucky for everything in my life that afternoon. A sober husband attending a meeting, my happy kids who had made beautiful friends, neighbours who were warm and welcoming and fun and living in this most gorgeous part of Melbourne.