Chapter 18
COLE
The therapy sessions with Silvia continued even after I had finished the program at the centre.
Coming back home to an empty house had been hard.
For two months, I had been surrounded by people—patients, counsellors, staff—voices in the hallways, footsteps, someone always nearby.
Now the silence inside the house pressed down on me like a weight.
Still, the rehabilitation journey had changed me in ways I had never thought possible.
I intended to maintain that change for the rest of my life, no matter how hard it would be.
I owed that much to the two people whose absence still carved a hollow ache inside my chest.
For Eva and Chloe.
A recent session with my therapist gave me another push to do something I truly did not want to do. Even thinking about it made my stomach twist with discomfort. Every instinct inside me wanted to avoid it, but I knew there was no way around it if I truly wanted to move forward.
“Today, I want to try something different,” Silvia stated during one of our sessions. Her calm voice carried the same reassurance it always did. “We are going to talk about support. Something you need… now that you are back at your own house.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, leaning back slightly in the chair.
“Well, for your recovery to succeed and for you to stay on this path, you need a network of people who will be there for you and help you, like your family, for example, and your friends.” I shifted in my chair, suddenly aware of how uncomfortable the topic made me feel.
“So, let’s start with family, shall we?” she asked, tilting her head slightly and watching me with a questioning look.
I already had Jack and Maureen, who had become like family to me. Their kindness and constant support had filled a part of my life that had once been empty. But I knew that was not what Silvia meant. She was talking about something deeper. Something I had avoided for years.
I cleared my throat, feeling the familiar tightness rise in my chest. “My mum and dad passed away years ago. I have a brother, but we’ve been estranged for a while now.” I paused, my fingers curling together as memories surfaced. “It happened after my wife and daughter passed away.”
“Okay…” Silvia said gently, giving me space to breathe. “Would you like to reconnect?”
I looked at her and slumped slightly in the chair, my gaze dropping to my empty hands resting on my knees. I stared at them in silence. “It’s been too much time. I don’t think he’d want to.” I was certain my brother wanted nothing to do with me, especially after our last encounter.
“How do you know if you don’t ask?” she asked softly.
The next day, I picked up the phone and made the call I had been dreading ever since that session ended. My heart raced wildly in my chest, and a sudden coldness lodged deep inside my core. My fingers felt stiff as I held the phone to my ear.
“Hi Liam, this is Cole.”
The silence on Liam’s end made me wonder if he was even on the line. My stomach tightened. Is this a good idea?
Silvia had recommended that a conversation with my brother might bring a more profound sense of closure. She believed reconnecting with him—even just to talk—could give me the support I needed to heal.
Liam sighed heavily on the other end of the phone. “What do you want, Cole?”
The words stung, and I knew I deserved it. The memory of the cruel and bitter things I had said to him years ago rose in my mind, filling me with shame.
After my wife’s and daughter’s funeral, I’d gone back to my brother’s place. A simple remark from him had caused something inside me to snap.
“You’ve not lost your wife and child. You don’t know what it feels like,” I had said, my voice filled with rage and grief as I pushed him away. “The day you lose yours, then you have a right to say something to me. Leave me the hell alone.”
Even now, remembering those words made me cringe.
They had been cruel and unforgivable. Liam had tried to keep in touch with me for a couple of months after the funeral, but I had pushed him away every single time.
I never answered his calls. I never opened the door when he came by, even though I knew it was him standing outside.
“I… umm…” I struggled to find the words now, my throat tightening. “I wanted to say I’m sorry.”
Silence followed again.
“Okay. Anything else?”
I had never imagined my younger brother could sound so cold. Once upon a time, we had been inseparable. We had been each other’s best friends growing up.
“I thought…” I paused, trying to calm my breathing. “Maybe we could catch up and talk.”
“Hmm.” Liam sighed again. “You needed your time then… I need my time now. I’ll let you know when I’m ready.”
Then he hung up.
I stood there staring at the phone in my hand for several minutes. I guess the closure with Liam will have to wait.
Anger and resentment surged through my veins. The stress of that conversation awakened a familiar tension deep in the pit of my stomach—one I recognized all too well.
The urge rose into a cyclone of temptation, sweeping away my restraint.
Talking to my brother, and the way the conversation had ended, made me want to drink.
I craved it now.
The thought wrapped around my mind like a dangerous promise, whispering that it would make me feel better—make this horrible feeling disappear, erase the memory of that conversation.
Before I could stop myself, I got into my car and drove to the liquor store. My hands gripped the steering wheel tightly as the craving pulsed through me.
I parked the car, jumped out, and walked toward the entrance. My footsteps felt heavy as I approached the glass doors. I reached out, about to open them.
Then I saw my reflection staring back at me in the glass.
The difference between my past and present stood before me like two different men.
I was no longer the long-haired, unkempt, stinking drunk who had wandered through life drowning in grief. I was no longer the broken, depressed alcoholic who needed a drink just to numb the pain of the past.
I had changed.
I had been through rehabilitation.
The memory of the shakes and tremors that had wracked my body during the first few days at the centre flashed through my mind. I remembered the nausea, the sleepless nights, the way my body had fought the absence of alcohol.
Slowly, I stepped away from the door.
I had made a promise.
To myself.
To my wife.
To my daughter.
Fighting against every fibre in my body that screamed for a drink, I turned around, got back into my car, and drove home.
As I turned into the cul-de-sac, I saw Lucas and the other children waiting outside.
A smile spread across my face, and the tightness in my chest eased as my tense body finally relaxed.
I was grateful for the second chance at life I had been given. The urges still came sometimes, but I learned how to control them.
After doing some research online, I downloaded a sample tracking form.
Every time an urge surfaced, I filled it out carefully.
It helped me analyze the situation that had triggered it.
I wrote down what the urge felt like, whether it was emotional or physical, and rated its intensity.
Then I would write down the strategies I used to overcome it—avoidance, distractions, talking it through, or simply walking away.
I showed the chart to Silvia during one of our sessions.
“This is impressive,” she said, after scanning it. “I also see that you had other ideas and jotted down painting and hiking as distractions.”
I nodded.
I had recently enrolled myself in painting classes, and surprisingly, I was enjoying them. I continued scheduling weekly appointments with Silvia as well. Those sessions helped me face my grief and guilt in ways I had never allowed myself to before.
“What do you think about AA groups?” Silvia asked me during one of those sessions.
“I’ve never thought about it,” I admitted honestly.
“Do you want to give it a try? It’s the same as what you did at the centre.”
She handed me a piece of paper with information about the meetings. I folded it and slipped it into my pocket, telling her I would think about it.
Back at the centre, group sessions had always made me uncomfortable.
I had never been good at sharing my feelings with a room full of strangers and preferred one-on-one conversations with Silvia.
Other than greeting people, I rarely spoke, and seeing the same faces every day in the hallways only made it harder.
But as I stood in my kitchen that evening, staring at the paper in my hand, I decided to give it a shot.
I drove toward the church in Duncan, a town about ten minutes away from Cowichan Bay. The meeting was being held in the church hall.
As I approached the building, my palms began to sweat.
I had never been the religious type, but something about entering that hall and sitting down in one of the empty chairs brought a sense of peace.
My shoulders relaxed slightly.
Two men from the centre, whom I recognized, brought a slow smile to my face. I had often seen them at the gym where we played basketball or tennis together.
“Hi guys,” I said during a break while standing in line and pouring coffee into a paper cup. “How are you both doing?”
“It’s tough being back home and not at the centre,” Carter said. He was a middle-aged man with a wife and two children. “These meetings are helping me a lot.”
“First time for you?” Brian asked. He was a construction worker in his early thirties.
I nodded.
After the meeting, we exchanged phone numbers.
A couple of days later, Brian called me. “Would you like to join us for basketball?” he asked.
“Sure,” I replied. “Let me know the time and place.”
The next time, Carter called and asked if I wanted to go bowling with the guys.
I accepted that invitation as well.