It would be the gift of not knowing the curse of addiction/alcoholism. Either in themselves or in their loved ones. I see the pain and worry and fear that come from watching a parent struggle. I know that pain and worry and fear intimately, though I’ve learned to manage it over the last 11 years. At least manage it a bit better.
But I know I cannot wipe away that pain and worry and fear. Like the tunnel of grief, my children must pass through it, suffering the scrapes and bruises, enduring the days, weeks, and months of darkness until they emerge battered and tired yet ready to face the future. I can’t put them on a train that will speed through that tunnel, or carry them on my back over the mountain through which that tunnel passes, or fly them around the globe and drop them on the other side. This is their journey. I cannot go with them.