May 19, 2002 | 3:44 p.m.
Alcoholism is a sad, sad disease.

Growing up my mother had an artist friend named John. He lived in Sunshine, Louisiana -- a place that is just a beautiful as it sounds. Sunshine is located on the "smooth" part of the Mississippi (if there is one) and it is in that rural town that I first saw "Santa", believed in ghosts and drank real hot chocolate (made from Hershey's baking chocolate bars). John, although he was not dating my mom, was the closest thing I had to a father for a long time. He took me out on the river, we roasted marshmellows on "secret islands" we landed on (now I know they were just square mile sandbars) and on long jeep rides down the levee.

There were so many days, though, when I was not allowed to go to John's. I would beg and beg my mom to take me; I forever longed to swing from his hundred foot oak tree and build a fire in his back yard. He would let me play with his paints, and I thought I could become a painter. After a long week of not visiting, I would be allowed again.

He sure did have colds a lot when I was little. That's why I wouldn't get to vist -- he was sick and in bed. When I came, he would smile, and get out of bed to play with me. He is the person I contribute most of my creativity to.

I eventually found out that John was an alcoholic, although I did not understand the word. I knew that he wasn't allowed a glass of wine with dinner, and that if he had a bottle of liquor in his room my mother would grab me by the arm and storm out. I didn't understand why John's girlfriend, Lois moved out that day, crying. She said he'd never change, but change what? I didn't understand.

After several DWIs and broken hearts, John moved to Florida. He was doing well there, living off of his art and staying sober. He would call and talk for hours to my mom, and then want to talk to me, and then want to talk to any innocent bystander who happened to be close to the phone. He said "Florida is beautiful, but that Louisiana sky isn't here" and he was right. He missed us.

Then he found out that he had cancer, along with his diabetes. He was struggling with health care -- it's not so easy for someone in his profession. Art doesn't offer the benefits that a 9-5 job would. He seemed optomistic about though.

John just called crying. My mom isn't here, so I told him I could talk to him. He's coming home -- he's not so okay in Florida and he needs to be near the people who love him. That's fine though, and all the better for him -- his work that sells for $800 there will sell for $4,000 here. Those Floridians just don't appreciate art, I guess.

And he told me he was drinking again.

How many more hearts can one person break??

God be with John LaFosse.

Laura

"I will let you down"

before | after

miss me?

make a difference - July 12, 2007
in short - February 20, 2007
gameday - October 14, 2006
quickie - October 02, 2006
roxie bear - July 06, 2006