Remembering my mother in law

[fbhjr]

Over the four day weekend I watched some old episodes of Cheers on Netflix.
There is one where the lead character has lost a lucky bottle cap and it
worries him. Turns out it was the bottle cap from the last alcohol he
drank and he kept it to remind him why he stopped.
I understand that a lot, and that episode is my favorite of the series.
When I gave up drinking I kept the half empty bottle I had been drinking
from at that last party before I quit. (The fact it was half empty shows
how close to quitting I already was. Before that I never would have left
anything in any bottle.)
For years afterwards I would look at that half empty bottle of Yukon Jack
when I felt the desire for a drink. Knowing I had walked away with the
bottle half empty made it easier for me to not start again.
That half empty bottle followed me through three apartments in two states.

One day my wife and I came back from a trip and it was gone. There was
also a note from my mother in law about how she needed to borrow our
apartment for a while and had cleaned all the sheets.
Yes, when she was about 60 my mother in law snuck into our apartment while
we were gone to drink our alcohol and have sex with her boyfriend.

I remember the first time we met. I was moving to a new apartment and my
(now) wife was helping me redo it. Her mother was throwing away some old
furniture, so she gave it to us.
My friends and I drove off to her mother’s house. I carried the small
couch down the stairs, out the door and put it on the car. Then, I told my
friends to tie it down while I rested.
At that point her mother arrived, looked at me sitting there while my
friends tied down the couch and said “lazy, isn’t he” to my (now) wife.

There was one time we were at a restaurant. As dinner ended she took out a
cigarette.
“Can you wait until we get outside?” I asked. “I’m allergic to smoke.”
She lit it, took a big drag and blew it in my face.
“Fuck you,” she said, taking another drag.
I walked home that day rather than ride in the car with her.
There was another similar time when I just got out of the car at a red
light and walked away.

But, as the years turned into decades she and I got along much better.
After all, even with all of the above, my relationship with her was better
than the one with my mother.
And, we agreed on one fundamental thing: we both loved her daughter.
That never made us friends. But, it did at least give us common ground.

Three years after she died I find myself missing her.
I never would have believed that back in the early 80’s.
And, I’ve found a lot of other reasons not to drink beyond that old bottle.