Happy Father(less) Day

My father gave me the greatest gift. He believed in me.

My father gave me the greatest gift. He believed in me.


I have been thinking a lot about my dad lately. I am always trying to picture his face when there are no pictures hanging close by. My dad was honest. A great man among men. My dad taught me so many virtuous philosophical principles. He was a quiet and reserved man. When he did talk, most people knew it was probably worth listening to what he had to say. He taught me the significance of keeping your word.  The importance of telling  someone you are going to do something that you better damn well do it! And that includes the dinner plans you made a 6pm. Don’t show up at 605. My father was always on time and if he said he would do something, you knew that it would happen. It didn’t matter what the situation. He was clearly a man of his word.

My father was just an all-round, decent and caring human being. Like the Tracy Lawrence song says “Run your car off the side of the road, get stuck in a ditch way out in the middle of nowhere…” Well, that was my dad. He was the guy who would “drop everything, run out and crank up their car. Hit the gas, get there fast. Never stop to think, “What’s in it for me?”” It never mattered how terrible the situation was, he always seemed to be there. He was always the first one to volunteer a helping hand.

Anytime my dad and I had a serious conversation about something, I always did my best to understand what he was saying to me. I always took his words very serious. At the end of his conversations he would always say “sorry for talking so much…I don’t mean to lecture you. I feel like I’ve been talking too much.” It was always so funny every time he said that because he never talked too much. Not to mention I always enjoyed listening to what he had to say.

Any time during my life, whether I was struggling in my relationships, stressing out over unpaid bills or just needed someone to bounce ideas off of, my father was always there with some sound advise; even during my active heroin use. Looking back at it, I can’t imagine how difficult it was for my dad to be talking with his youngest son, who he knew was completely loaded on heroin. Worrying every day if he was going to wake up to the morning news announcing the overdose death of his son. Or maybe shot dead in a back alley somewhere from a botched drug deal.

Never in a million years would I believed that I would have out-lived my father. After-all, the lifespan of a heroin addict is (typically) 15 to 20 years after initial addiction is set into motion. Never in a million years would I have believed I could deal with the death of my father without slamming another needle into my arm. Every time I think about the reality of never being able to see my dad again, tears well up in my eyes and I get a knot in my throat. My emotions are running amok right now. It would be so easy to get high and flush my father’s absence into the depths of oblivion. Bury the pain and sadness and anger with one last blast of synthetic courage. But why?

Just months ago, I was sitting right here where I am sitting, on my couch next to my father. We were tying up the last loose ends of our book project. At that time, our family had already heard the life-changing news about my father’s diagnosis. It was a terminal illness and all we could do as a family was wait. This visit would be the last time my father would ever come over to my house. It would also be the last conversation I would ever have with my dad. As we were finishing the last closing pieces of the project, I could see in my father’s eyes that we would have to finish up early. He was losing focus and became fatigued rather quickly.

I was stung by a hornet that day. It was the first and only time I have ever been stung. My dad did not like bees’, hornets’ and wasps’ so much. I’ve never been a big fan either. I know they are quite a large part of this whole life on earth thing that is currently taking place- I get that, but stay away from me. Bees’ of all kinds are frightening to me. One time, my dad had a can of Pepsi sitting outside and when he went to take a huge swig of it, he also got a mouthful of bees’. I loved hearing that story. I don’t know what I would do if I had a mouthful of bees’. Hearing my dad tell that story I would always picture  a John Coffey  healing scene from The Green Mile.

I wish I would have known that after that day, I would never get to see my dad at my home ever again. Maybe I could have said more to him or told him I loved him. Maybe I could have hugged him longer. Maybe it don’t matter so much. I don’t think I could have said enough- even if I had said everything. The three weeks after that day were complete hell for my father. Within hours he was completely confined to a bed. Within a day, he could no longer carry on a conversation. When he was awake, he could really only communicate with his eyes and slight movements of his lips. His final word to me was either “hi” or “bye”. I still don’t know if he was trying to say hello, or if he was trying to tell me goodbye. No real sound came out as he struggled to get the word out. The more I ponder it, the more I believe he was trying to tell me goodbye. I didn’t say anything back. I just began to cry.

My father died too soon. He was only 59. I haven’t seen him since October. I have a long ways to go still I guess. I am so grateful that I was sober when he passed away. I am so grateful I am still sober. So many years I wasted doing drugs and isolating from my family. That time could have been spent talking with my family- talking with my father. Learning from my father. My mind of course goes through all the foolish scenarios; maybe if I would have gotten sober sooner my dad could have seen the finished, bound book. Maybe this, maybe that. What’s done is done. I know I can’t change any of that.

I wish he knew how the book is coming along. We worked so hard to finish it and he will never get to see the book on a bookstore shelf. He will never get to hold the finished product. From start to finish, it took us almost 5 years to complete the 95,000 word manuscript. Even in his dying moments, he wanted to make sure the world heard his voice. He hoped to help other families’ who may go through what our family went through because of addiction. He will never know if his hard work and dedication to make a difference was all in vain.

I’m not writing this to make my father sound like his was without faults. We are all human. However, my father was a man who I respected and admired greatly. He was such a well-rounded person with amazing talent, work ethic and genuine virtue. I miss his humor and his backyard Bar-b-ques. I miss his talks. I miss his terrible, barely readable text messages.

I needed to get some of these emotions out. I need to talk about him and not hold in the pain and anger I feel from his untimely death. If there is a God out there, he is one greedy son-of-a-bitch. If that is offensive, I apologize. I am quite angry at the moment. I am left with only memories of the man I used to call my dad. May he rest peacefully.




6 thoughts on “Happy Father(less) Day

  1. This was very touching. I’ve got tears right now. Our fathers do sound eerily similar. I remember my dad was also stung by a bee that had crept into his beer can. Reading that part gave me goosebumps. The end reminded me of a quote I read somewhere, “either god doesn’t exist, or he is unimaginably cruel.” I feel you on most of this. I feel for you and wish you peace and understanding. Also, Bravo on remaining clean.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Thanks for your comment JoJo. I’m glad there was some relation between our dad’s. I remember growing up thinking what I would do if my dad were to die and my conclusions were never anything remotely good. They definitely didn’t involve dealing with the loss. I guess life is much different when its real life- rather than a made up scenario in my head. The thought frightened me to my core.
      As far as my statement about God, it didn’t sit well with some people but I believe I have the right to my own emotions and opinions. I believe in a higher power; just maybe not the same way as most people. I think that is perfectly acceptable. 🙂 Thank you, it is really the only option for me. (staying clean) I tend to not get much accomplished when I am using. (duuh lol) Hope you had a great weekend.

      Liked by 1 person

  2. Beautiful post to a wonderful sounding man. I know you said he had his faults, but he does sound like the type of man I would love to be. Who says you need to be a “macho” man to be a real man? Some of the most loving, kind, generous people I know are men. And it sounds like your dad was one of them. And it also sounds like you’re in a good place with it…even though it’s tinged with some sadness, there is no unspoken or unworked baggage hanging around…which is wonderful.

    Thank you for sharing this…a joy to read.


    Liked by 1 person

  3. Thank you for your words Paul, Yeah my father was more lover than fighter. His fighting years took place before I was old enough to know about it. You are right, the relationship between my father and I- I feel was in a good place in the end. He knew I was sober and we were both happy with the way things were. Except for his illness of course. He was in too much pain in the end.
    Thank you for your comment and support. Maybe someday you can give me a few blogging pointers. 😉 The work you do is amazing.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. I am so estranged from my father right now…this makes me happy for what you shared and sad for what my father and I waste…he was not a good man…not a teacher…but as I recover, and I am very early on again…I learn that I must develop compassion for those I resent…I am happy you shared goodness at the end and I find a lesson in that for myself. Thank you…

    Liked by 1 person

    • Thank you for sharing Nanette. I’m sorry that you and your father have difficulties. Many times I struggle to share about my dad because I know many people aren’t as fortunate to have a good relationship with theirs- I am grateful for the father I had. It’s great to hear you say you need to build up compassion for the ones you resent. We know how toxic resentments can be. I hope you find some sort peace or solitude in your relationship with your father.
      I added you in my circles 🙂 thanks for stopping by and come back anytime.

      Liked by 1 person

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