Every day is Open House at 12 Rounseville Road (Route 105) in Rochester, MA.
Cherie Poirier-Your Local Realtor NEW LISTING: Relax and enjoy the tranquility of this beautiful 3 bedroom, 2 full baths, sunroom, outside shower (hot & cold water) located in Rochester and situated on 4+ acres!. Check it out: www.bit.ly/12RounsevilleRoad or contact firstname.lastname@example.org.
It’s time for Al and I to relax and downsize to a 55+ retirement location. After 40 some years, it is not an easy decision to leave our home with years of memories. Our sunroom is where all our fun developed with family for events. Adding a pellet stove made our seasonal room into an all-year sunroom. No matter how bad the weather is, we do not have to cancel the event.
Our 4.11 acres is great for privacy. No one can build on the left of us with the land belonging to the Rochester Conservation land. Enjoy our outside shower with hot and cold water during the summer, and a deck off the master bedroom with skylights in both upstairs rooms. Great land and a barn for animals or growing crops if farming is in your heart.
Too many great features to mention this property. A great place to bring up kids with the grammar school two miles down the road and the bus stop directly in front of the house, even for the high school pickup.
Being right on Route 105 has been a blessing in the winter. The state plows you out right away to get where you have to be in a hurry. We are 1/4 of a mile to Llyod’s Market, two miles to Plum’s Corner, which has a restaurant, bank, dance school, lawyer’s office, yoga studio and a cafe.
Come and take a tour to see if our home and property is a fit for your family.
Al & Alberta Sequeira
Thirty-four alcoholics and drug addicts from all walks of life from the United States and Canada tell their personal stories on what did and hasn’t worked in their recovery programs to doctors, counselors, family members and society.
The Sequel, Please, God, Not Two from Someone Stop This Merry-Go-Round: An Alcoholic Family in Crisis:
Thanksgiving – Black Friday Shopping
Two days after Lori’s death, Thanksgiving arrived. Al and I had planned to go to his daughter Lynne’s home. Our son-in-law, Ron, was the chef in his family and was preparing the meal. I had no feeling of celebration in my heart and wasn’t looking forward to breaking down with each warm hand that might be laid on my shoulder.
I wanted to send Al alone so that I could be by myself. I desperately wanted to disappear into the living room with a pillow and blanket and not move all day. I knew that it wasn’t fair to Al because he felt the loss too. We didn’t speak a word about our emotions or Lori’s death. We tried to embrace Thanksgiving like we were okay with this tragedy.
I forced myself to get dressed for the occasion. My mind raced with thoughts of Lori never being with us for any holidays again. It was so painful. When Al got dressed and went downstairs, I stayed in my bedroom and cried in private. The flood of tears relieved some of the pressure.
We arrived at Lynne’s close to 1:00 pm and Al’s other daughter, Carol, greeted us when she opened her sister’s front door, she lived in Maine and had driven down to be with us for the holiday. She came and gave me a long hug without talking. It choked me up, and I couldn’t say a word to her. I smiled through tears. I braced myself as Lynne, Ron, and the grandkids gave me a kiss. All of them loved Lori and had spent time with her through the years. Al and I never thought of the girls as stepsisters. They were all our daughters. I smiled and didn’t add much to the conversations going on around me. My mind was a thousand miles away. I didn’t want to be there or anywhere else.
Two days after Lori had passed away was too soon to celebrate any holiday, especially a Thanksgiving dinner. She wasn’t even buried yet. Life had to go on, but I didn’t care about it because mine had stopped. I didn’t want to smile, hug anyone, or put a spoonful of food into my mouth. I knew I wouldn’t be able to swallow it. Talking took every ounce of strength that was left in my body. If someone asked me a question, I was too emotionally distressed to use my brain to think of a reply. I simply couldn’t function.
The table was set festively with gold, red and orange decorations and linens. Lynne always had a wonderful touch with coordinating themes for the holidays. The family sat at the table, and I wondered if someone would say the blessing. I was the one who usually did. My throat felt closed.
Suddenly, as if Al knew, he asked, “Are you up to saying the blessing, honey?” Without looking at anyone, I put my head down. It was a miracle that I didn’t go into pieces. The tears flowed without any sound of cries from me. Even praying was too much of an effort. How could I thank God for my blessings at that moment?
Al made the sign of the cross. “God, bless this food that we’re about to eat, bless the people who can’t be with us today, and most of all, have Lori in your eternal peace, Amen.” He said it without falling apart, but I knew that he felt differently inside.
We stayed until 4:00 pm, which felt like forever, and then left to go to Debbie’s. If we stayed later, it would have been too much for me to go at all. Al pulled into her driveway, but I wanted to stay in the car. Facing more people was agonizing. This would be another moment of putting on a strong act for someone else.
Lori had been a part of her sister’s home. I felt her before I opened the front door. I could picture her inside with her kids. Now they were here alone.
“We’re running late, Mom. The turkey won’t be ready for another half-hour. We planned on an earlier dinner,” Debbie said as she greeted me with a smile and hug.
My God, how does she do it? Her world has come apart, and she’s taking care of a house full of people while I’m fighting to keep myself together. I just want to be alone.
“That’s fine. Al and I are full after eating Ron’s great meal.”
We didn’t have plans to eat again, but I needed to be with Debbie and the grandkids. I felt close to Lori in their company.
Debbie’s mother and father in-law, Larry and Merlyn, were sitting around the kitchen island. They came over and hugged me. Again, I could only smile. I didn’t want anyone, especially Joey and Meagan, to see me cry, fearing they would be upset. The pain in my throat was suffocating me. I wanted to put my head down and cry until I went dry. It wasn’t long before Brian’s sister, Cheryl, her husband, John, and their daughter, Gina, walked into the house.
I started to help Debbie prepare some of the dishes and place them on the dining room table. I had to be doing something in order to avoid conversation. A huge, gorgeous centerpiece with the same holiday orange, gold, and red flowers as Lynne’s stood out on the white table cloth, which was colorfully decorated with embroidered green leaves.
Once the family sat down, Al went into the living room to watch the football game. I couldn’t just sit, so I strolled back to the kitchen and started washing the pots and pans that had been used for cooking. It felt good being alone.
Debbie called from the dining room, “Leave the dishes alone!”
I ignored her and cleaned the whole area and placed the dishes, used for preparing the meal, in the dishwasher. I couldn’t understand how Debbie had the strength to put the dinner on in the first place.
Cheryl had offered to do the dinner, but Debbie insisted she was all right with having the day at her house. The next morning, she admitted that she was mentally exhausted. She took responsibility seriously and fought through her own agony.
We made it through the occasion, and I could sense the depression in all my grandchildren. Everyone was quiet. Joey and Meagan had to be feeling the emptiness. They left to see their father at their grandparents’ home. They went together in Joey’s car. Al and I left at seven o’clock; it had been a long, stressful day.
The next morning, I met Debbie at her house to go through Lori’s clothes. We had to find an outfit for Lori, but nothing looked presentable.
Debbie called Jay at the funeral home to see if Lori’s stomach had shrunk. He informed her that we should get big sized clothes as she was still swollen.
“Debbie, let’s just go to JC Penny’s at the Taunton Galleria Mall and buy her something nice,” I said.
We arrived at the shopping mall without realizing that it was the day after Thanksgiving, “Black Friday,” the biggest shopping day of the year. The parking lot was jam packed with cars. We grabbed a space that Debbie spotted as someone was leaving. This wasn’t a day for politeness about parking, so I rushed over. People were focused on sales and flocked to the entrance.
I didn’t want to take my winter jacket off inside the Mall because of my cold. I wore a light-blue, flannel shirt underneath it. Every inch of floor space was taken up with shoppers in every aisle. People were bumping into one another as they sought out the specials in the mall stores.
Slowly, we rummaged through the clothes on the racks. I had a hard time concentrating. I spotted an outfit that had a long, cream colored skirt and a matching short-sleeve top with a silk collar. We both studied the shade and thought it would be a good color against the blue casket interior and Lori’s dark, black hair. It wasn’t something that Lori would normally wear, but we both liked the set. Lori didn’t wear anything this formal, except for special occasions.
We looked at the sizes and Debbie said, “I think we should get a size 14, Mom. She usually wore a size 8.”
Because of the short sleeves, we decided on a designed, matching, cream sweater to cover-up her bruised arms from the burst veins. We were so glad that we had found the outfit in ten minutes.
“We have to get nylons, too,” Debbie remembered.
“Jay said the funeral home requests it. We also have to get shoes.”
“Shoes…I think that’s crazy, no one will see them,” I said, frustrated at not having a choice.
We grabbed a pair of queen size pantyhose. “I don’t want a small size that would cut into her enlarged stomach,” Debbie stated. Our minds erased the reality that Lori would not feel anything.
We ran over to the jewelry section with a 60% off sign on the counter. Deb chose a plain, thin, gold necklace with a tiny, cream-colored pearl and the same matching pearl earrings.
We then headed for the shoe department, and Debbie picked out a cream pair with no backing. Lori normally took a 7 1/2 shoe but we bought a size 9 to fit her swollen feet.
“Oh, Mom, we need to buy underwear and a bra for her. You check out, and I’ll meet you at the front door.”
I squeezed into one of two thick lines with shoppers eager to pay for their purchases. I saw Debbie hurry around the corner to the lingerie department. People were arguing at the registers over the wrong prices on the discounted sale items. I waited in line for twenty minutes without any progress toward the register. The 60% sale was supposed to end at noon, which was only ten minutes away, but the store extended the time because so many people were still rummaging through the displays.
I felt faint from the heat because I was wearing too many layers of clothing. I started to feel nauseous, and standing took every ounce of strength I had. I wondered how many in the crowd would be shocked to learn that I was buying clothing for my daughter’s wake and funeral.
Two women behind me were talking excitedly about what they were buying to give as gifts. One of them held up a gorgeous, light pink, angora sweater to show her friend. “I’m sure Betty will love this for Christmas. What do you think?”
Christmas! Lori won’t be with us! Oh, God, I can’t stand this. Please, get me out of this store!
Her remark had instantly depressed me and waiting in line was now unbearable.
These are going to be the last items I’ll ever buy for Lori, I thought, as I held them close to my chest.
My swollen feet felt glued to the floor as I tried to control my emotions. The line wasn’t moving fast enough for me. I wasn’t able to remove any of the heavy clothing I was wearing because my hands were full. I could feel the sweat beading on my forehead and under my sweater. I was getting weak from nervous tension and felt light headed. I was hyperventilating from the strain of shopping, and I couldn’t see Debbie anywhere.
There wasn’t any counter space on which to place some of my items. If there had been, the out-of-control bargain hunters would have scooped up my pieces of clothing thinking they were available. They were acting like a mad mob, grabbing anything with a red sticker on the price tag.
I could feel the wetness on my shirt, and my clothes were sticking to me, something that never happens to me. My heart raced, and I felt stressed out, the lines were at a stand still. If the items weren’t for Lori, I would have dropped them on the floor and walked out. My eyes started to fill with tears. I wanted to scream.
Lord, how do people live through this? Of all days to shop!
Finally, after what seemed like hours, my turn came to pay. I handed the clerk my credit card; I couldn’t wait to leave. Once the items were rung up, and the credit slip was signed, I grabbed the bags and headed toward the entrance to the mall. I looked for Debbie, but she was nowhere in sight.
Debbie arrived, looking exhausted. “I was trying to decide what kind of material to get with the underwear pants. I felt that the cotton ones would be the most comfortable on her. Imagine, Mom, she’s dead—and I’m thinking this way.”
Her eyes filled up with tears that she had held back while shopping all morning. I wrapped my arm around her as we walked out of the mall toward my car.
We went directly to the funeral home to drop off the items. Jay looked at them assuring us that they would fit Lori. I had a weird, uneasy feeling, knowing Lori was downstairs in the funeral home. I wanted to ask to see her, but the words wouldn’t come out of me.
The next morning, The Standard Times newspaper arrived, and Al pointed out Lori’s obituary. It took me a while to get the courage to look at the notice. It was on the second page.
Her picture doesn’t belong here. She’s another statistic of this killer called alcoholism. This can’t be. It’s not real. My precious, precious daughter! She was supposed to live. Her life’s history was in one short obituary. How will people ever know how wonderful she had been?
The write up stated that she had passed after a short illness. It had been cirrhosis of the liver! I was disappointed her disease wasn’t listed as the actual cause of death. Other alcoholics needed to see the reason for her death. I wanted them to look at this beautiful, young woman and see how she had died from a crippling demon.
Forgiving may not seem like an action that is that important to heal and recover from alcohol abuse, but it is. The first person to forgive is yourself. You made the choice to go down the path of addiction with friends, maybe from an emotional or physical event from the past that devastated you, loneliness, hurt, abuse on you, bullying, or whatever reason. We all make mistakes in life. Someone physically hurting us or giving emotional abuse, can mold us into what we become in adulthood.
As a young child, you can’t defend yourself. You depended on the other sober parent to protect you and a lot of times that person fails you. I failed my two daughters by not getting them out of that unhealthy environment. Lori became an alcoholic and died like her father. Debbie was effected more emotionally than she knew as time went on in her adult life. Everyone is effected by the drinker. The parent becomes a great enabler bringing the alcoholic deeper into their addiction. They live in denial the same as the drinker thinking the problem will go away. So what happens, it’s a merry-go-round of sick lives living behind closed doors to silent abuse.
It is not easy to forgive the person who hurts you. If you don’t, you live the rest of your life in anger, hurt, resentment, and turn to alcohol or drugs to drown your past. You slowly become the person you were upset with in the first place. This action of over-drinking needs professional help.
We all never forget our past, but it’s what we do with the rest of our lives that counts. You can stay stuck feeling sorry for yourselves and hate the person who made your life so awful or forgive them and move on to become better than them. Why give up happiness? Why let the past rip us up inside? Someday you will look in the mirror and see yourself at sixty years old still drinking because you didn’t want to get on with life. You make your changes.
Forgiveness is something we do for ourselves. You don’t have to associate with that person and forgiving doesn’t mean they were right. It means you are going to go down the healthy path and have a good life for you, a future mate and children. Ending the abuse, starts with you. Don’t use your hurts as excuses to drink. Alcoholics look for any excuse to drink so you can feel they are reasons for our actions.
We suffer because we keep thinking back to our pain and we repeat and repeat our past to anyone who will listen. What you are trying to do is show how right we are and how wrong someone else was. You’re trying to control the situation. Let it go and put it in God’s hands. You can’t move on until you let go of the past. You can’t return to it and change anything that happened to you. What you are missing is not appreciating the good within you. You hold the key to the way of recovery.
Feel alone and weak? Purchase What is and isn’t Working for the Alcoholic and Addict in Amazon. It’s written by 34 substance abusers. Who can understand you more than another addict? Learn what helped them. Key in Alberta Sequeira name at www.amazon.com and all her books will come up.
My new blog shows my writing and speaking talents. The blog is www.albertasequeira.org through WordPress. Would love to have you visit to review it. I welcome comments like I do on this site. Let me know what you want to read. Anything special?
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Thank you for the support!