Marriage #2.....Robbing the Cradle....Part One.

It's been a few chapters since I travelled back to the days when my addictions were completely out of control and I was on the fast track to eternity. I have said that I don't remember the 90's very well, if at all, and marriage #2 is a fuzzy, vodka soaked blur. I can honestly say that I don't remember what day we got married on. I do recall that it was February and it would have been in 1995 or 1996.

In the recovery part of addiction there are actions that need to be completed to reconcile with people and clean up the damage we have inflicted upon those who were around us in our using days. As I have made reference to before, the three stages of drinking are: "How are you," "I love you," and "F#*K you." Obviously the most damage is done in the third stage of inebriation. There were plenty of good memories associated with partying. It wasn't all homelessness and despair. But I can say that the times I did the most harm to the ones I loved, or cared about, occurred when I was ripped.

My second marriage lasted about 4 or 5 months. We had worked together and she was 11 years younger than me. She was beautiful and bubbly and could be called a "trophy wife." She knew I was an alcoholic. Heck, everyone knew I was. I knew I was but was comfortable with the tag. The word didn't phase me, but if you called me crazy or nuts I would go off.  That angered me because it was true. She came from better stock than I did and we had absolutely nothing in common.

The age difference was hard enough to deal with. I like rock and punk. She liked hip-hop and dance. I loved books. She loved magazines. I liked culture and art. She liked watching "Friends." We were "right on" intimately but after 2 hours of work outs there are still 22 hours left in the day. Those times were the only moments we connected. She had a good heart and I think she thought she could "save" me from myself. At that point, Jesus himself couldn't talk me out of drinking and taking pills.

She had some medical issues and had been told she was unable to have children. We took no precautions since they weren't needed. After a few weeks of dating she missed her cycle and we bought a pregnancy test which happened to come up positive. We were both elated. This was our "Immaculate Conception." She had been told it was impossible, and WE defied the odds! She went to the doctor who confirmed she was pregnant. I was thrilled. I was going to be a DADDY! It was the one thing I wanted more than anything in the world.

I pictured us at Sox games and playing catch. We would eat bologna sandwiches at our first Bear game, just like me and my Pops did. It was idyllic and I obsessed about it during all of my waking moments. I was going to do the things my parents didn't have the time, or emotional availability, to do with me. I knew my new baby would give me the motivation to go on the straight and narrow. I would swear off the drink, weed, speed, pills, and all the other stuff I got off on. My little bundle of joy would be my savior from self-destruction.

We flew to Vegas. Yes! Las Vegas, the marriage capitol of the world. She was only 20. I was 31. She demanded that I not drink on the trip and she was too young to gamble. We were in Vegas! It was like going to a girlie bar and making a pact not to look at the girls. I was determined to do the right thing and give the child the Connolly name. My random nobility and twisted morality drove my decisions. This world would not carry the bastard child of Tommy Connolly!

I do not remember any of the wedding ceremony, or that entire day, for that matter. I was in a speed induced blackout. Yes, that is possible. I do remember we ended our wedding night in an argument and slept in separate beds on our honeymoon night. We spent a few days seeing the sights but neither of us were giggly newlyweds. We both sensed disaster in our procreated union. We flew home with plans for me to move into her condo in the western suburbs.

While we cleaned up my apartment in Lockport, Illinois, we found 32 empty vodka and whiskey bottles. I packed a friend's Blazer with what would fit and left the rest behind. My cat "Capone" was all I cared about. To be honest I really don't care much for cats but Capone was my family since the landlord didn't allow dogs. I also packed my album collection. It is a menagerie of classics and iconic albums. The rest was just stuff that cluttered my life. I told my neighbor Frank to take whatever he wanted from my abandoned unit. He too had tried to help me get sober but I was unreachable.

Alcoholics and addicts change boyfriends and girlfriends, we move to new places, and take new jobs thinking that these changes will snap us out of our insanity. We make plans for sobriety but after a few cajoling sips of the sauce, those plans are drank away. Addiction is happy with us no matter where we are at or who we are with as long as we are using. If someone or something tried to get us to change our ways, the disease talks us into ridding ourselves of them instead of it.

We started to play house as boy and wife, and it was rocky all the way. The only bond that kept us connected to our complete disconnection with each other was the pregnancy. 13 days after we were married we went in for her first ultrasound. She was excited and had a gorgeous smile. She beamed as the nurse began moving the x-ray like wand over her stomach. I was directed to the monitor next to her. There was little Tommy Connolly. I could see the finger and toes of my future Hall-o-Famer and his big fat melon. But the picture didn't seem right. The feelings I had turned from light to darkness.

There was only one thing that was missing from that perfect picture. It was movement and a heartbeat. It was the first of two of these scenes that I would endure in my short lived marriages. Being the first miscarriage I had ever experienced, I was crushed. I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy. My head filled with rage at the doctors and hate for everything crammed itself into every corner of my being. She was inconsolable. The doctors had been right in their prognosis concerning her ability to have children. She didn't see the monitor. That I am thankful for. It is burned into my mind and I can recall the vision as clearly today as that devastating day 15 years ago.

How could God be so cruel? My only wish was to be a drunken, pill popping daddy of the year. Now he did this? My drinking and drug use escalated and the relationship deteriorated by the second. The one thing that held us together had been removed. I had more reasons to fuel my liquid suicide and would soon sink to a level I couldn't conceive of even in my darkest, drunken thinking.

I Know We've Just Met....Will You Marry Me?

This is a flashback to "I Don't Like Myself Very Much...But I am All I Ever Think About." I get crazy when I'm watching a movie that has flashbacks and I get lost. I usually turn to my wife and ask in an uneasy tone 'Is this NOW or then?!" She shoots back a wry smile acknowledging that she is aware that I hate flashback films but should shut up and let her enjoy it.

I have jumped around in telling my story of addiction, hope, faith and recovery. I thought that I needed to share some hope after laying out a lot of pain. I have had more feedback on my addiction stories than my "life philosophy," I see the connection between the two, but pain is juicy, hope only warm and fuzzy.

I have had lots of crushes and have been in love a few times. I adore my wife Kris more and more with each passing day and had 3 failed marriages before meeting her. This blog will obviously not veer off into "how to meet the perfect mate." I do know that I hurt a lot of women and some hurt me. All knew I had addiction issues but I was able to convince, or con, them into dating or marrying me anyway.

My first wife was, and is, beautiful, funny and kind hearted. Looking back at the courtship and marriage, after 18 years, I have a clearer idea as to what was wrong from the start and why the marriage was doomed from the beginning. The courtship was stormy and lurched along for 2 years. She left me after just 4 months of marriage. She knew I drank too much. Like lots of people, she didn't realize how bad it was.

When we lived together I would walk to the corner for a paper and a bottle nightly. I would chug the bottle on the short walk back. After arriving home I would thumb through the paper and promptly announce that I needed the "other" paper and repeat my booze cruise again. There were hidden bottles and strange trips I had to take. Sometimes I would say I needed to "clear my head and go for a walk." The trip wasn't to clear my head. It was to check out of it. I would repeat this over and over until the day I arrived home to find our apartment cleaned out. Ah! More reasons to justify continuing the insanity.

I had an opportunity to talk to her in the last year and apologize and clear the air about the past. I can not say that she has forgiven me but she didn't stab me when we spoke. She is still as cool as ever and is touching a lot of people's lives in amazing ways. I am grateful that I had that opportunity.

My second wife was much younger than me. She also knew I was alcoholic but thought she could save me. We had very little in common. Personal tragedy and pain was the tie that bound us together. During a short whirlwind hook-up I got her pregnant. A pre-existing medical condition made it impossible for her to conceive. But I got her pregnant! It was divine intervention as far as I was concerned. So we married quickly and set up house. I married her to "do the right thing" and raise our miracle baby. The child would snap me out of my alcoholic fog and make me a responsible, sober man. We were "in love". She lost our child shortly after we were wed.

My drinking and drug use spun out of control. I was now mixing speed with weed and booze to be able to use more. She threw me out after about 5 months. I have tried to reach out to her but have been unsuccessful. The time isn't right now and I pray for the day when we can talk about those times and apologize for my obnoxious behavior. I know how sick I was inside but the outside world only saw the destruction and anger I left in my wake.

My third wife and I met at a singles dance. She needed a green card and I needed a child. We never lived together more than a few days at a time and I got her pregnant about 3 weeks after we met. In my "do the right thing" alcoholic morality, I married her. I remember taking her to the doctor for her first ultrasound. I was giddy and proud to be there. As I stood by the monitor I could see MY baby's amazing tiny head, hands and feet. The only thing missing from the most beautiful thing I had ever seen was a heartbeat. After a few moments and several doctor/nurse whispery consultations, they confirmed that the baby was dead.

I was 32 and I had been married 3 times in 6 years. I had lost two children and I was pissed at God and the world. How could he do this to me? He knew I wanted so badly to be a daddy. This is when my homeless period began or continued. We were absolutely toxic to each other. We married as a business deal, i.e, green card her, baby me. The relationship did end but I ended up getting her pregnant again. The marriage would never have worked but she gave me one of my greatest gifts.

Kelly was born in January 2000. She has her old man's zest for life but didn't get my schnoz. Thank God! She is brilliant. I am not just saying that because she is mine. Her grades confirm it. I was sober the day she was born. I held her at the hospital and was alcohol free for the first 5 years of her life. I support her mother and see her when I can. It is still complicated but I get through it a day at a time with God's help and guidance. I couldn't get through it or anything anymore without him.