I had an alcoholic uncle who was on again, off again AA member. He'd sober up for a year or 2, then fall off and go on a binge and my grandma and my mom would have to go drag his ass out of whatever shithole he was hiding in/living in/getting evicted from and get him to a hospital for detox and rehab and such. When i was younger he was living in the back house of my grandma's place and when he went on a binge my mom and dad would have to go chase him off the property while we waited for the cops to arrive. My grandma, a devout Catholic, would end up feeling guilty and let him back in. Cycle repeats ad nauseum for decades.
The third to last time my uncle lost his battle with the sauce, we got my grandma to get a TRO on him and kick him out for her own safety. He disappeared for the most part for a few years, supposedly living with some New Hope members, working and staying clean, volunteering with the church.
Eventually he fell again and ended up in the hospital for a few weeks after suffering his second stroke. My grandma, being the kind and loving (if not enabling) woman that she is, visited him, brought him back into her house, and helped to care for him while he regained some of his mobility and strength back. His demeanor during this time was, to say the least, a bit gouchy.
He was argumentative and confrontational, he had the demon on his back and it would eventually kill him. One of the worst things I've ever had to experience was drive to my grandma's house in the middle of a Thursday night to chase my uncle off the property till the cops came. He had pushed my grandma down, gone outside, and while he was out there my grandma had locked him out. When I pulled up to the house he was dragging a metal rake (stroke had taken away some of his motor control plus he was extremely atrophied from his last binge) to the front of the house in an attempt to smash a window to get back in. I can still remember being livid, barely putting my truck in park before i was out the door and over the fence and in my uncles face, yelling at him, asking him WTF does he think he's doing and why was he being such an asshole to someone who was always there for him. Had my grandma not been watching from the window my uncle probably would've been a dead man that night and i'd be writing this from a prison cell instead of a desk.
The last thing I ever said to him while he was conscious was, "You're a fuck up and no one wants you around anymore you fucking piece of shit." The next time I saw him he was in hospice on his deathbed, stroked out, in a coma, barely breathing. I'd give anything to take those words back.
Seeing him there, the man who gave me my first job, the man who shared his hard-earned knowledge of construction, the man who at one time owned his own successful small business, the man who was always willing to take me and my cousin to the park to get some batting practice, the man who shaped a lot of my cousin and I's work ethic, dying... it just wrecked my heart.
I'd like to think that he heard me when I last talked to him and told him how sorry I was, that I was angry and didn't mean what I had said a year before, that I loved him, that I was thankful for everything he had done for me over the years and that if he could hold on for a little while more his son would be there to say his goodbyes. I hope that he found the peace in the next life that he so desperately searched for in this one.