Two Funny Stories About Pills

#1

As ritualistic as the passing of the sacrament itself is my Mother passing mints down the aisle after the sacrament. As soon as the Aaronic priesthood is excused to sit with their families, The Keeper of the Mints reaches deep into her pockets to retrieve our third course. She counts out just enough for the family so you simply take one and pass the rest on. That's been standard procedure for as long as I remember. Imagine my surprise, then, when I once looked in my hand and saw I had been handed one mint and a Lortab.

Add to the humor the fact that it was my Dad who had passed on this unusual handful. We were in Pine Valley and it was the last time he would ever attend church. It was also the first time he attended in nearly 20 years. The little white chapel was being renovated so we were outside in a big white revival-style tent and the talk was all about the final state of the soul. My Mom had recently rescued him from Telluride after a terrible back injury he acquired during a drunken fall down his loft ladder. The pills were for his recovery and my Mom was guardian of them.

Upon realizing what was in my hand, I was struck with a severe case of the church laughs. I passed the contraband back to my Dad, who then passed it back to my Mom. They both got a little chuckle. That's just what one craves during church. (Nothing like a false sense of well-being to set you on fire with the spirit.) Don't you wish they still used wine? That three-hour clock would tick a little quicker.

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#2

My Mom went to Telluride a lot during the last years of my Dad's life. A few times she went because he had been hospitalized after a bender. He was detoxing in the hospital and then my Mom would bring him back to St. George to help him recover. This cycle was perpetuated until the end.

My Mom was living by the mall in a corner unit of the government subsidized senior citizen housing and working at Scaldoni's. She was at work one night when I stopped by to check on him. After detox, alcoholics are given something like Xanax or Librium to help calm their nerves and keep them from drinking. Once again, my Mom was keeper of the pills and she had told me she hid them in the house from my Dad and would only hand them out to him if he was desperate.

The first thing he asked me when I came over to my Mom's was if I knew where Mom had put his pills. He didn't know I knew she had hid them. But alas, I couldn't resist those poor puppy dog eyes... and I enlisted in the Xanax rescue operation. We went through the whole house, all while with me kind of hoping we wouldn't find them. (I would have to answer to my Mother.)

After searching the entire tiny apartment, my Dad's blue eyes drifted out the sliding glass door and focused on the dumpster. "You don't think your Mother accidentally put them in the garbage, do you?", he asked. A minute later, I was straddling the giant blue dumpster and hopping into the communal garbage of dozens of senior citizens. My Dad stood beside it, straining to look over the edge, and pointing out bags he thought looked promising. He puzzled, "Maybe we should search them inside so people wont see us going through their garbage?" One by one, we took white garbage bags inside my Mom's house and searched them for pills. Still. No pills.

Upon a final sweep through the house, we eventually found the Xanax in a shoe in my Mom's closet. My Dad, bless his heart, was trying desperately to conceal his excitement. I couldn't help but be happy for him, whether I had hell to pay with my Mother or not. Better Xanax than rum. For an alcoholic, anyway.

Whenever I think of that day, I laugh and laugh. It puts a smile on my face. Sometimes I wonder if something is wrong with me because I see humor in everything. But then I remember it was my Dad and Mom who taught me to laugh at everything in life. If you have to find the humor in a dark place, so be it.

I love my Dad. Despite all the horror he put our family through, he was SO EASY TO LOVE. I pray all the time, pleading that he wont have to suffer for any of the sins he committed against me by abandoning us. Because I forgive him and love him through and through. I'm grateful everyday that we regained our relationship in those last years and really grew close. I miss him. Pills, please.