We got another box today. It's filled with random toys, snacks, comics he cut out, little miscellaneous notes and cards. These boxes arrive at holidays, birthdays or just whenever he gets a wild hair. He's my Dad. He's also an alcoholic. When I was growing up he was the type of alcoholic that hid vodka bottles in his car under the seat. He got drunk at at open opportunity. He was happy and nostalgic when he was drinking. The life of the party. When my parents got divorced; he really started drinking. Some years later he got let go from his job. Then lost the house, the cars, last but not least his sanity and dignity. For many years now I've lived in Florida. A safe distance from the chaos that he is. Safety for me is getting these random boxes and swallowing the lump in my throat. I hand Ashley the latest toy and smile and say it's from Grandpa. What I don't say, what I can't tell her, is how my heart aches that he isn't a part of her life. If there was anything my Dad truly would have enjoyed it would be being a Grandpa. He has only met Ashley once for two hours. He has never met Jake. In fact, I didn't even tell him I had Jake for two weeks after I gave birth. That's how it works now...He calls, I let it go to voicemail, listen to the message to determine how stable he is, then maybe call him back. He texts, if I can read it (meaning does it make sense), I will text back. We never see each other.
Growing up I was close with my Dad. We got along and more or less "got" each other. I look down as I type and I see my hands; his hands. I will always look at them and think of him. Today I simply am shocked he's still alive. I keep myself and my family away from him. I can't take the roller coaster ride that is alcoholism. I fought hard for many years, years of my life I should have been getting out into the world with my Dad's love and support. I fought to get him help. I tried to love him "well". The hardest lesson about alcoholic's or any addict for that matter is you cannot "love them well". At some junction in life I just shut my heart down. I stopped wondering where he was sleeping, what he was eating, IF he was eating. I stopped feeling guilty about my house, my car or my soft bed....none of which he had. God whispered into my heart that I had to let go and let God; whatever that may be. Love him for what he is and what you get. It's as if I had to bury my Dad and give birth to what was left. The shell of a person who looks familiar but I have no connection. There are times like tonight however, in the still of the evening, when my heart breaks....again. I look over the dining room table at all the thoughtful stuff he sent and ask God again; why? Why is this my cross to bear? Why is this his journey? I cry. I let the tears fall and I pray. 1800 miles safely tucked away, I hide. So often I stuff away the sadness of him not knowing my kids; for him not being a part of my life. I am angry. I am angry for what I feel has been taken away from me, from my family. Everyday that goes by I think it's amazing he is still alive. Every year, every holiday....he is truly lucky. For the damage he has done to his body and mind; he should be dead. I will always wonder if I should have made more of an effort. I don't regret it now. The simple answer is make the effort, but it's complicated. And no. I will let God lead the way. I pray "if I need to go to him, if there is something I should do Lord...lay it on my heart. Till then I rest in the peace that you have brought us this far." I am hopeful somehow, by some miracle he will find peace here on earth. I will always wrestle with this. I understand he will always be my cross to bear. My heartache and heartbreak. I turn my eyes to my kids, my family and our future. Try not to focus on what I have lost but what their Dad and I will give to them. How lucky they are. How thankful I am they have a Dad that they don't ever have to "love well".
For tonight, I will tuck the cut out comic strips with little notes and cards away. Someday I will tell the kids my story. I want to show them the good things; the funny things about their Grandpa. I will recall the good memories with a smile; and pray.
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