5/27 But for the grace of God

A few days ago we were near the small town of Mulege` which lies along the inside of Baja about half way up the inside of the Sea of Cortez. It was a great spot, quiet, remote, beautiful, home to plenty of whale sharks and the place I celebrated my 50th Birthday. Swimming with the whale sharks was a once in a lifetime experience. A great dinner with friends along with an evening of dancing with Bill was a great way to mark the birthday milestone but what really sticks out in my mind is the tragedy of alcoholism that I saw through our new friend Jerry.

Jerry is a widowed ex-pilot in his early 70’s now living full time in Mulege` Mexico. An ex-pat he moved here more than ten years ago and has a life that many can only dream about. He has money and time to enjoy living a life of ease. He owns a beautiful custom stone home on a cliff overlooking a small come in Bahia Concepcion and evenm has “enough” to own a second home (with air conditioning) in town which he shifts to in the dog days of the Baha summer. He is close with his two grown kids and they fly down to visit him frequently. He has nothing more pressing to do than spend his days fishing, playing tennis, and visiting with the many friends who now fill his Mexican life. He can afford to do just about whatever he wants to do in life but he is a broken man.

We met Jerry at the local cantina. He has a pretty open social calendar especially this time of year so he offered to drive us into town to pick up provision allowing us to shop till we drop and get everything back to the boat without schlepping it in packs on a bus. He acted as tour guide and historian and the trip was great. Then on our way back to our beach we came upon a stretch of road that climbs steeply winding through the dry hills. There were two cars on the side of the road and from a distance it looked like there had been an accident. In a quiet voice he simply stated that this must be a hard stretch of road. Then we passed on by and he continued his tour.

Now I try not to judge or make assumptions but …..I had already noticed Jerry’s proclivity for drink. He never actually looked drunk when I was around him but he was always holding a beverage of choice. Always. His every movement was made to allow him to indulge. All his friends were drinking buddies and all his daily plans were collected around the experience of socializing –with a drink in his hand. He is amazingly social yet he held a aura of melancholy and despair. At one point at the birthday bash he stated simply that he “probably drinks too much” now. Me I watch people so I sat quietly over several days as he drink essentially non stop easily switching from beer to gin to tequila to baileys. Everyone loves Jerry and he is one of the worlds truly friendly people.

Eventually the story came out. Last July Jerry and his wife ate dinner at the same spot we met him and where he still pals around with many of his neighbors. It was late in the season so they had already moved from their stunning hillside home to their place with AC in town. They had one more drink for the road. Then they drove in two cars from the cantina to their stone home because she wanted to stop and pick some things up from the house and take them into town. They stayed just a short time packing up a few things and having a night cap. She left ahead of him for the 20minute trip to town while Jerry locked up. Fifteen minutes later Jerry’s car climbed a steep hill and rounded the corner. Her car was off the road, down a steep cliff. There were already people racing to help but by the time Jerry reached her she was simply gone. No goodbye, no I love you no more anything. Their whole life and all their dreams disappeared in the blink of an eye.

It has only been 10 months and the grief is still clear on his face and on hers too. His daughter was there on one of her many trips south. The whole thing was only spoken of in the briefest of terms and with little story or explanation. The sadness sticks to everything around them. He never said he is devastated. She is steadfastly intent on helping her dad though this rough time. No one says he was drunk or she was drunk. In fact I could have read this completely wrong. Maybe she didn’t really drink much or even anything. Maybe he drinks a lot now but wasn’t intoxicated then. Maybe no one silently blames anyone. But then again I have my own intimate relationship with guilt and remorse. I used to wear shame around like a favorite night shirt, then flipping a switch I would trade it in regularly for a smile and a day of accomplishments desperately trying to look on the outside like I thought I was supposed to look. To act like everything is OK. No, better than OK. Like I have a tiger by the tail and I don’t need any help at all thank you very much.

He saw that Bill and I don’t drink. At all. I could tell it was a completely foreign concept to show up for a casual Sunday brunch and NOT partake of “Jerry’s famous” Bloody Marys. It was also a mystery that we could spend two or three hours at a cantina eating a meal or celebrating an occasion without adding booze to the mix. When we entered his beautiful home I looked across the room at the stunning views but what I rally saw was the full bar set up on the kitchen counter, the elaborate ironwork hutch down the steps in the sunken living room filled with dozens of his “special” bottles and the beautiful wine rack near his piano filled with vintage bottles. He has a life that many would die for. I think she probably did. He might too. kat