The Call

Before.- and after.  That’s the way I view my life now.  Before the phone call- and after. I had been waiting on that call for years.  I held my breath every time my mother’s name appeared on my phone. I told myself it was inevitable- and it was in God’s hands. I reached out for guidance, made healthy boundaries, and  moved on with my life. Yet I was always incredibly aware of his absence. I caught myself reaching for my phone often- when something happened that I wanted him to know or when I ate at a restaurant I knew he would love.  Food was our thing. Christmas was our thing. Sitting in comfortable silence was our thing. But the reality of the situation was that the man I shared all these things with was gone.

My father was a complicated man to everyone but me.  But I understood him- I always did. My mom used to tell me I was the only one who got him- I was the only one he would listen to.  He heard me. The thought of that used to make me feel special- like I had a gift that no one else had. Today it makes me feel like a failure.  

It has been 10 days since the call.  Ten of the longest, hardest, loneliest days I have ever had.  I thought I was ready- convinced I had prayed and braced myself for the worst.  Now I know that nothing can prepare you. There’s not a 12 step program, self-help book or Bible verse in the world that can have your heart ready for what has taken place.  Grief comes in waves, followed by endless fear and anxiety. There have been moments of peace followed by overwhelming feelings of guilt. They say it’s normal- they say all of this is normal.  I don’t think I will ever feel normal again.

I have reacted strangely to this.  I cringe at the thought of having most people near me.  I don’t want to hear what anyone has to say. Maybe it’s because I’m just hurting- or maybe it’s  because I’m not ready to hear the truth.

I have been told to pray and keep hoping.  There was a time in my life where I would cling to these words for dear life. That time is long gone.  I have zero ability to bullshit- God and I aren’t on speaking terms. I put Him in charge and He failed me.  Perhaps at some point I will think differently. Right now I feel nothing but rage.

Addiction is still an enigma.  I spent 20 years in pure hell before I found my way into recovery.  I have been watching it destroy my father ever since. I made countless attempts to save him- losing more of myself in the process every time.  Now I lie awake and night and wonder if there was something more I could have said or done to help him. Logic would tell me I did all I could. But logic doesn’t live here anymore.

I was told there are fates worse than death.  I have never heard a more appropriate explanation for what is happening right now.  Alcohol took my father’s mind and left his body. The well spoken, educated, hard working hero that was my Dad has been reduced to a frightened, bed ridden shell of a man.  Death would be a sweet release at this point- no one deserves to suffer this way.

Until then we will sit here in silence- but it brings no comfort to me like before.    I am slowly becoming a stranger to the man I once felt closest to. I will fight to help him remember and hold his hand every time he forgets.  We can travel and get lost together til he finds his way home once again.

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