Unbreakable: My New Autobiography (6 page)

I left towards the end. I couldn’t be there to watch Kelly pack a bag, be put in a car and taken to the airport. Because that’s what you have to do. You can’t say, well, think about it overnight and we’ll talk tomorrow, because the addict will run. That was exactly what Jack did when we tried to do an intervention on him when he was seventeen. It was at our house in Malibu and he just legged it, dodging the cars on Pacific Coast Highway, not returning till morning.

I was exhausted, emotionally and physically. My heart felt bruised, just as if I’d been punched. History was repeating itself. An Osbourne was on the skids; only the first names were different.

The next six weeks were hard. Kelly was officially an adult and so her privacy was sacrosanct. When I called the facility I was given no information. ‘Kelly Osbourne? We have no record of anyone here of that name.’

Eventually came what’s known as family week, the final six days of the programme. I knew how it worked. I was already a veteran; Jack once, Kelly twice and Ozzy God knows how many times.

The therapists change, but otherwise it’s the same wherever you are. It’s basically an education in the science of addiction, both for the addict and their family. Nobody drinks or does drugs ‘because they like it’. Usually it’s a screen to hide what’s going on inside. And now science has identified a gene that you have or you don’t have. But having the gene doesn’t mean that you’re doomed. The tools are there. All that’s needed is the will to use them.

That week was particularly hard for Ozzy, and I know that he was dreading it and not only because he’d been in treatment himself. One of the first things he was told was that Kelly was in there because of him. Not only because the gene can be hereditary, but also because to her addiction was normal behaviour. And if her daddy could be that way and still be successful and accepted by everyone, then why couldn’t she? I knew that it broke his heart that she might be following in his footsteps – he knows how painful and destructive it is. But he finds it hard to verbalise his feelings. He’s much better at writing them.

Years ago I decided I would never put myself through family week with Ozzy again. I’ve had it. He has the tools, and if he chooses not to use them, well, that’s his problem. God knows, I’ve tried. But for my children – when you’re a mother, you never give up. I will go every time. They have their whole lives in front of them, and anything I can do to make it easier, I will. So there I was again, in family week.

When I got there, Kelly ran into my arms. She cried, I cried. She apologised for blaming me for everything and for not speaking to me. I understood. What must it be like to grow up in a household where your father is a drunkard? Children learn by example. They had watched him battle with addiction their entire lives. Through it all we’d stuck together. For him, there was no downside. We always took him back; his fans supported him, as did we. His career remained intact. We allowed him to get away with bad and selfish behaviour. We have a co-dependent relationship. As much as he’s addicted to alcohol and drugs, I’m addicted to him.

That week, Kelly told Ozzy a few home truths. He was shamed but not cowed. He responded with anger and self-loathing. As I say, he finds it hard to articulate verbally, so he says nothing. It is hugely frustrating and disappointing, but I understand it.

Ozzy’s stance with the children has always been, ‘I’ve always provided for you. I’ve always given you what you’ve wanted. You’ve never gone without.’ And that continues to be his justification. It’s a crock of shit.

You can walk away from a husband, but you can’t walk away from your children, whatever they have done.

Now Kelly was out on her own and needed time to adjust, to re-evaluate her life. She was lucky. She had her own home and she was weighing up her options. She’d shown that she was a performer on the West End stage; she was like, OK, now what?

And then the phone rang. It was
Dancing with the Stars
. Would she be interested?

Dancing with the Stars
is the US version of
Strictly Come Dancing
. Even the judges are the same – at least, two of them are, Len Goodman and Bruno Tonioli. In fact, Kelly and I had been approached several years before, but it didn’t work out. I had had lessons, and I knew that it was hard, really hard.

Kelly didn’t have to think twice. She was in. And it couldn’t have been more fortuitous. The timing was perfect.
Dancing with the Stars
is totally involving. She did a month’s training, and then it was six days a week as long as you stayed in. It’s a huge commitment. It’s all or nothing, and it’s a complete gift. You learn to dance with the best dancers in the world. And we’re not talking a couple of hours a week. When you do
DWTS
, you can’t do anything else.

Above all, it gave Kelly a structure. There was no saying, ‘Oh, I’ve got a hair appointment,’ or ‘I don’t feel well.’ Once you’d signed up, you were in.

Kelly had never done any ballroom dancing before in her life, and she loved it. As for her partner, Louis van Amstel, he couldn’t have been better. Like all the best teachers, he was both patient and inspirational. He nurtured her, he gave her confidence at a time in her life when she was feeling she’d fucked everything up. He put her on a path and made her feel good about herself. As far as I am concerned, that show saved her life.

The physical transformation – clearer eyes, dewy skin, weight loss and improved muscle tone – came later, but mentally I saw a change in her almost straight away. Not only was she dancing every day, but she was doing Pilates to strengthen her inner core. Louis was like a life coach for her. He adored her and she adored him. They’re still in touch.

She’d call me at 7 a.m. most days during the rehearsal period.

‘Hi, Mummy, just calling to say hello before I leave for practice.’ She sounded cheerful,
purposeful
. It was a joy to hear. I didn’t want to bother her by going down every day to watch, and besides they were in a dance studio getting on with it and didn’t want constant interruptions. But after a few weeks of rehearsals, and shortly before the first show aired, she called me as usual in the morning.

‘Mum, I really want to show you my dance.’

So I went down to the studio, feeling faintly sick with anticipation. I knew how much it meant to her to get this right.

She was wearing leggings under a long dance skirt, her hair scraped back from her face. The track, ‘Trouble’ by Ray LaMontagne, filled the room and she started to do the most exquisitely graceful waltz. Oh my God, it was magical, so innocent. I could tell by the look of concentration on her face that she was trying really hard.

I was so overcome that I fell silent. I couldn’t trust myself to speak, I just drank it all in: this precious minute and a half of my beautiful daughter dancing her heart out with her professional partner. Just three months earlier, I had been part of an intervention because I was so worried about her well-being, and now here she was, healthy, super-fit, focused and just utterly, utterly gorgeous. Her voice punctuated my reverie.

‘Mum, what do you think?’ She was staring at me intently.

‘Darling, I’m just in awe of you, and so proud.’ I had tears in my eyes and a huge lump in my throat.

One week later, she glided out in front of the nation, many of whom had probably read that she’d been in rehab and were thinking, Oh, here’s the nightmare wild child.’ They knew the story and were waiting for something to go wrong, but she just blew them away. When this slight figure in a floor-length, electric-blue ballgown appeared I grasped Ozzy’s arm in a flood of emotion. She was so beautiful. And you could see the joy on her face. Then she started dancing. What can I say? Her movements, the way she carried her head, the curve of her back… I couldn’t believe it. I could see the work, the commitment. By the time she rushed over to see us, Ozzy and I were clutching each other, both in floods of tears.

Just months before she’d been this broken creature, crawling on the ground. And now… a glorious butterfly had emerged, to take wing and fly.

It was too much to hope that she would win – I mean, you can’t compete with Donny Osmond, who has danced his entire life. But our little Kelly made the final, coming third behind a singer called Maya, who was also a dancer.

Everything about that show was nurturing and empowering, and she has learnt a new skill which will last her all her life. And from the moment she took her final bow, the phone hasn’t stopped ringing.

4

No Rest for the Wicked

Ozzy and Black Sabbath guitarist Tony Iommi in 1978.

A
few years ago I had this idea that we would slow down a bit. I even thought Ozzy might retire when he reached sixty. That was the plan, at least.

What was I thinking? Ozzy, stop working? It’s about as likely as me stuffing the red hair dye at the back of the bathroom cabinet and going au naturel while tending my herbaceous borders. It ain’t gonna happen.

Ozzy turned sixty on 3 December 2008, while we were in the middle of filming
Osbournes Reloaded
. I had planned a surprise party for him in Las Vegas, but first I had to get him there; not easy with someone who hates leaving the house unless it’s for a recording studio or stage. After much deliberation, I told him that we had to fly to Vegas two days before to film with a family for the show’s ‘The Osbournes meet the Osbournes’ slot. This went down quite badly.

‘Fucking hell, Sharon, what a shit way to spend my birthday.’ I think he probably suspected all was not as it seemed, but he moaned the whole way there anyway.

I was telling the truth. He was going to meet a family called the Osbournes. His own. I had arranged for a crowd of family and friends, including his sisters, Gillian, Jean and Iris, to fly out from the UK to surprise him. When we reached the hotel, we walked in and there they all were. Jack, Aimee and Kelly came, of course, and so did Louis and Jessica, his children from his first marriage. It was really fantastic, everyone being together, because it hadn’t happened that much over the years.

Ozzy’s relationship with each of his sisters is good, but he’s particularly close to his oldest sister, Jean. It’s like she has become the mother he never really had. The pecking order in their family, in terms of birth, is Jean, Iris, Gillian, Paul, Ozzy and Tony. Jean is the one he speaks to regularly, usually every week, and she tells him what the rest of the family are up to. He doesn’t see much of his brothers because they all have such different lives now. There’s no bad feeling, it’s just that they have grown apart. It happens, particularly when you don’t even live in the same country.

It was fantastic that Louis and Jessica came, and Ozzy was thrilled as it was a great opportunity for them to spend much needed time together. For Jack it was a heaven-sent opportunity, and he took it. He was filming a documentary on his father called
God Bless Ozzy Osbourne
. Jack bankrolled it himself. He invested in his own equipment, cameras, hired a cameraman and a sound guy and followed Ozzy around the world for a couple of years. It debuted at the Tribeca Film Festival in New York, sold to Showtime and was the most-watched documentary on the network. It made him money and laid the foundation stone for a career behind the camera instead of in front of it.

Ozzy wasn’t a good dad to the children of his first marriage because he was absent so much of the time. It’s easier now that they’re adults with children themselves, and the relationship is better, but it’s still slightly distant because of all those lost years that you can never make up.

Jessica has three children and Louis has two, so Ozzy has five grandchildren living in the UK. But again, you have to have regular contact with little people to build up a closeness. You can’t walk into their lives on birthdays and at Christmas and expect them to open their arms for a hug and say, ‘Hello, Granddad.’ Unfortunately for every grandparent in the same position, it’s just what happens when your grandchildren grow up on the other side of the world. It’s not anyone’s fault, it’s just how it is.

It’s a long-distance relationship both physically and emotionally, and Ozzy knows that. That’s why he wants to try and do things differently with Pearl.

The celebrations were spread over three nights. The first was family night. After the initial surprise of finding his entire family in Las Vegas, Ozzy began to enjoy himself. A further surprise awaited him when we took everyone to see the Beatles tribute show,
Love
. Ozzy is a lifelong fan, and he was in his element. Afterwards we went backstage where the entire cast sang ‘Happy Birthday’.

The next night’s treat was at Caesar’s Palace, in the Colosseum, where Bette Midler was performing her spectacular
The Showgirl Must Go On
.

When Ozzy and I were first working together, back in 1979, I would take him to see iconic artistes’ shows. I wanted him to watch how they performed, how they dealt with an audience. I was educating him on performance and production. And one of these performers was Bette Midler. She was playing at the Universal Amphitheatre in Los Angeles, so I took Ozzy along, together with the guitar player Gary Moore, who I managed at the time. So it’s a beautiful midsummer night in an open-air theatre and we have front-row seats. Unsurprisingly, we’re late. We’re walking down the central aisle and Bette Midler is on stage singing, sees us and stops mid-number.