I get more letters from husbands and wives and daughters than I do from gamblers. They want to know: Is it my fault? How do I make it stop? Will I ever trust them again? So this page is for you. Some of it is from me, some of it is from my husband, Roger, and all of it comes from the hardest years our family ever had.

What I Put Them Through

I won't make this pretty. If I'm going to tell gamblers to tell the whole truth, I have to tell it here too.

Roger lived for two years with a wife who was gone four nights a week and lied about where. Money disappeared and he thought he'd made mistakes in the checkbook. He did the math over and over at the kitchen table at night and blamed himself. For a while, he told me later, he thought I was seeing another man. In a way I was. It was a machine.

Andrea, our daughter, finished college in 1994 on money from the line of credit on our house. By the spring of 1997 I had spent more than that out of the same line on slot machines. When she found out, the money wasn't what made her cry. It was that I'd sat across from her at Easter, at her birthday, at a hundred Sunday dinners, and she never knew. "Where were you, Mami?" she asked me. I was sitting right there, and I wasn't there at all.

Stephen, our son, lent me three hundred dollars in the summer of 1996. I told him it was for brakes on my car. He was saving for an engagement ring. He's married now, and he has forgiven me, and I paid him back, every dollar, the first thing. But I still think about those brakes.

Christmas of 1996 was small, and I said it was because the nursing home cut our overtime. That was a lie on top of a lie, told to my own children over the Christmas ham. I have promised the Blessed Mother there will never be another Christmas like it.

From Roger

Shelia asked me to write something here. I'm a pipefitter, not a writer, so here goes. That morning in March, when she put that letter on the table, the first thing I felt was not anger. It was relief, because for two years I'd known something was wrong in my house and I thought I was going crazy. The anger came later, and it stayed a good long while, and I'm not going to pretend it didn't. What I want to tell other husbands is this. Don't decide anything that first morning. Don't leave and don't promise you'll fix it either. Go to work late, sit at the table, and listen. Then get help for yourself, not just for her. I went to a counselor on my own for most of a year, and that's where I learned it wasn't my fault and it wasn't mine to fix. I take care of the money now and I don't mind. I check the receipts and she wants me to. Some days I still get angry about the house, and when I do, I say so, and she listens. That's new. Two and a half years later I trust her more than I did before any of this, because now she tells me the bad things too. She's the strongest person I know. I'd marry her again tomorrow, but I'd keep the checkbook.

-- Roger

What Helped Our Family

Each of us got our own help. I saw Bernadette. Roger saw his own counselor. A few times we went together. There are support groups just for family members of compulsive gamblers, too. Ask a counselor or your doctor to help you find one. The gambler isn't the only one who's been through something.

Protecting the money, right away. Roger opened an account in his own name for the household bills. We closed the credit line. We changed every PIN number. We sent away for our credit reports and went over every line together, which is how we found out about a card even I had forgotten. If you're the spouse, don't wait to do this until you're sure. Do it now. You can always undo it later. Usually you won't want to.

Nobody bailed me out. The kids didn't lend me another dime, and Roger didn't quietly pay off my secret cards. We made a plan with the credit counselor and I'm paying it back out of my own wages. That was right. If somebody had made my debts disappear, I'd have gone right back. I know that about myself.

A family meeting. About a month after that morning, we had both children over for supper and I told them myself. I didn't let Roger do it for me. Stephen was very angry and said so, and that was all right. Andrea wrote me a letter a week later, three pages, and it was the hardest thing I've ever read and the most loving. I keep it in my Bible.

Roger kept his own life. He went back to fishing Saturday mornings with his brother. He'd stopped, because he didn't want to leave me alone, because he didn't know where I'd go. His counselor told him he couldn't stand guard over me forever, and she was right. He goes fishing. I go to my Monday group. We have supper together after both.

Trust came back slowly. And it should. Words didn't do it. Time did, and receipts, and being where I said I'd be, every time, for a long time. If your gambler is in recovery and you still don't trust them, that's not a failure. That's arithmetic. Trust gets paid back the same way the debt does, a little every week.

If You're Worried About Someone

Here's what I wish someone had done for me, sooner. You know your person better than I do, so take what helps.

• Trust your gut. Missing money, missing hours, mail that vanishes, new secrets, a short temper you can't explain. You're not crazy.
• Pick a calm moment. Not when they walk in the door at 2 a.m. Not in front of the children.
• Say what you've seen, not what you think they are. "The bank statement didn't come this month. The grocery money is gone again. I'm scared." That's harder to argue with than "You're a gambler."
• Ask them to see their doctor or a counselor. Offer to drive.
• Protect yourself either way. Whether they get help or not, look after the money and look after yourself. You can't make another person stop. You can keep the lights on.
• Don't give up on them. Roger didn't. I'm here because he didn't.

If you want to write to me, or Roger, you can. We'll both answer.

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