Today is my dad’s birthday and I feel moved to share how I feel when I think about him.
In the years leading up to my dad’s death, I had spent some time trying to avoid the heartache that he caused with his own self sabotage. It wasn’t long before his death that I had spent three months not talking to him at all because I was angry and felt that I didn’t deserve to have to see him treat himself the way that he was. I told him that I wouldn’t speak to him again until he got his shit together. I told him that it wasn’t fair for me as a grown adult, to have to take care of, and watch my dad live the saddest life. One that in my eyes, could have been much more meaningful if he just put in a little bit of effort.
Fortunately, several months before his death I had a change of heart. I decided to love my dad despite my disappointment with him. I called him every day, I helped him get his groceries and I invited him over for dinner with my family even though it hurt to see him. Somehow, it hurt less than avoidance.
It wasn’t enablement, it was acceptance. I worked on myself enough to realize that his lifestyle had nothing to do with me. I loved myself enough to find the bravery to face the reality that we were in, and I simply showed up as the daughter that I wanted my future self to remember being.
Now that I’m on the other side of it, I am proud of her. I don’t look at the last months with my dad as painful. When I look back, I see two humans fighting hellish personal tendencies but ultimately winning against them, because in those memories, there are glimpses of happiness and meaning. Even though they were merely cracks of light in a seemingly dark alley, it was better than the months of no contact because that time was even darker.
When I miss him, which is more often than I would have guessed, it reminds me that grief is the price of love and we did love each other. We can’t control how others show up in our lives but we can protect our future conscience by controlling what we can: showing up ourselves.
