Extract — Hold my hand, Rosie. Don't let go: A mother-and-daughter story of addiction, despair, and hope
Author:
Madeleine and Rosie Redding
Publisher:
Mary Egan Publishing
ISBN:
9781738617630
Date published:
11 March 2024
Pages:
200
Format:
Paperback
RRP:
$34.99
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Rosie is a shy young teenager when she starts experimenting with alcohol. When Rosie's parents finally realise that their beloved daughter is having problems with her drinking, Rosie is firmly in the grip of alcoholism. What follows is the true story of a family's battle over ten years to find help for Rosie, whose journey is lined with the all the horrors the disease can bring, including the tragic loss of friends. Ultimately it is Rosie's resilience and determination that starts her on the tenuous path towards sobriety, while her parents vow to never give up and to never, ever let her go.
This extract from page 50-55 of Hold my hand, Rosie. Don’t let go gives the perspective of both Rosie and Madeleine in an account of a turning point in Rosie’s alcoholism.
Madeleine
Flying in to the Cook Islands and landing on the beautiful island of Rarotonga is always delightful. I gaze down at the reef with the deep blue ocean outside and the astonishing turquoise inside the white breakers. We have been here many times before, but I never get tired of its beauty, with the tiny palm trees below and the mountain range rising majestically out of the centre of the island. Since Rosie and I are sun-lovers, I feel sure we’ll have a great time.
We stay at the Edgewater Resort, sunning by day, enjoying a cocktail or a wine with dinner in the evenings. Rosie and I hire flippers and goggles and snorkel inside the reef. There are masses of brightly coloured schools of tropical fish – Rosie knows the names of all of them. We lie on the sand, and I look over at her fondly as she reads her book and works on her tan.
On our third evening, we meet up with friends who are staying further around the island. We have a lovely meal at the Waterline Restaurant; the setting is like a large veranda, with steps down onto the sand. It is balmy, and there is no need for a jacket. Rosie spends much of the evening on the beach in front of us, searching for crabs. It is something she has loved to do ever since she was tiny. She drinks very little.
It is about 10 p.m. when we return to our room. As I climb into bed, Rosie suddenly says, ‘I’m not at all tired. Can I go and hang out at the bar for a little while?’
I look at her for a long moment. Jimmy shrugs, and I must remind myself that she is an adult and has every right to spend some time without her parents, enjoying the company of young people. After all, the bar is only fifty metres from our room.
At 1 a.m., I wake. Rosie isn’t in her bed. I am immediately concerned as I know the bar will be well closed by now. Without waking Jimmy, I creep out of our room and along the path to the bar. As I get near, I can see the bar is in darkness, but lights along the path are shining out into the sea. I can see Rosie in the water with two men. I can hear laughter. I can’t tell whether Rosie is in her underwear or if she is naked. I pause and watch them for a while, racked by indecision about whether to confront them. I worry that Rosie has put herself in a potentially dangerous situation, especially if she is drunk. I retrace my steps back to our room as fast as I can. I shake Jimmy awake.
‘You have to come with me,’ I hiss. ‘Rosie is in the sea with only her underwear on and two strange men leching all over her.’
Jimmy dresses swiftly, and we head back. By this time, Rosie is out of the sea and in the pool, clearly drunk. The two men look mightily pleased with themselves. I feel my anger mounting. They see us, and their expressions sour.
‘Get lost,’ says Jimmy. They stay where they are, chins up, truculent. They don’t want to lose this unexpected prize. Jimmy gets fierce.
‘Fuck off !’ he yells. The men slither away.
Rosie is furious. ‘I don’t want to go home,’ she shouts.
‘Please get out of the pool, Rosie,’ I beg. She refuses and starts sobbing while berating us for ruining her night.
Without warning, she cracks her head down as hard as she can on the side of the pool, which is concrete. The sound is sickening and we gasp. Then she does it again and again. Blood appears on her forehead.
‘Rosie, stop!’
Jimmy grabs her and hauls her out of the water. She kicks and screams. I gather up what clothing I can find as Jimmy manhandles her back to our room. She is shrieking by now. Lights start going on in the rooms along the path, but we ignore everyone while telling her to shush, that it is going to be okay.
Back in the room, she continues to scream and tries to bolt. Jimmy pins her down, and both of us whisper soothing words, over and over and over. After what seems an eternity, she calms down and falls asleep, the deep unconscious sleep of the very drunk.
It is the afternoon before she wakes. All day, I have been trying to work out how we should handle this. She is lucid, quiet, not evidently concussed and denies a headache when I enquire.
Why do I not shout and yell? I am frightened of this
devil that has got my daughter. I don’t want my anger
to drive her away. I know instinctively she would
choose the call of alcohol over her mother.
One thing I know is that I am changed. I am confused. I feel helpless. It is as if I have woken inside a horror movie, but this one is real, and I don’t know how it is going to end.
The next day, Rosie is quiet and contrite – she is always apologetic following a drunken episode – and we are loving and forgiving be-cause we don’t know what else to be.
We are sitting in the hotel room after breakfast, wondering what to do with our day.
‘I’m an alcoholic.’
There. It has been said.
‘We will help you,’ I say gently. I have no idea what that means, how we can possibly get rid of the demon on her shoulder, ever whispering in her ear that it is time to drink.
And drink, and drink. And that it is okay to harm herself, or even kill herself.
Rosie
I wanted to go out, get drunk, and for there to be no consequences. I needed to drink as much as I liked into the night. I felt constrained, and I didn’t want to be held back anymore. That was my aim when I headed to the bar.
I came across two guys around my age who were keen to get drunk with me. We started at the bar, then headed back to their hotel room for some shots.
The rest of the night is very blurry. We went skinny-dipping in the ocean and the hotel pool. I don’t know what time my parents searched for me, but I remember seeing one of them appear. And then I don’t know what happened, but I had an urge to just… go away. Disappear. I didn’t want to be there anymore. So, I whacked my head as hard as I could against the edge of the pool.
The memories are very hazy after that. I remember being in the hotel room and my mother changing me into dry clothes. I remember feeling shame and guilt, even in my inebriated state. I remember my parents staying close to me all night. Those feelings of shame and guilt were one hundred times worse when I woke the following day. I had a headache, but I didn’t want to say. I just wanted to sleep away my shame.
I felt I had to say something. So I said, ‘I am an alcoholic.’
I think it was hard for them trying to find the right thing to say in return. I could see them struggling. I think we all just felt kind of… bleak. I don’t know if this is important in any way, but it will always stay with me. I had a very vivid dream that night. A meteor was coming directly our way as we lay in our hotel beds, and there was nothing we could do about it. We were all about to die. I woke, and I think I screamed. I was bewildered as to why my parents seemed calm.
Looking back, it feels like that dream signalled the disaster that was about to follow.
About the authors
Madeleine and Rosie Redding are pseudonyms and most of the people who feature in the story have had their names changed. This is to protect and respect the vulnerable who are on their own troublesome journey of addiction.
