How Dad's Alcoholism Affected Me

At the age of five I once climbed on the roof of my father's garage because I wanted to be up there with him while he was putting shingles on his newly built man cave. The look of horror and shock on his face when he looked up to see his little girl at least 18 feet off ground is still in my head decades later. I've not seen fear like that since. I just wanted to be with him and see what he was doing. He grabbed me like a football and held me with one arm going down the ladder and told my mom what I had done and told her to keep an eye on me while he was working on the garage roof.

Years later when he was suffering from end stage liver disease, it hit me very hard when I learned why. He hid his drinking well because even as a young adult, I distinctly remember visiting him often unannounced over the years. Night or day there was not a clue in his behavior, surroundings, or otherwise. But, I also had no reason to suspect any problem, nor did my two sisters. While at work, I received a call from my sister telling me he was going to the hospital. Just about 15 minutes away, I rushed to be with him fearing the worst.

He spent just a couple painful months in hospitals and eventually spent the last two weeks of his life in a nursing home at the fairly young age of 63 because of his condition. I took almost two months off from work to spend as much time that I could with him. He was too fragile for a liver transplant and it was very hard to see him this way. I always told him that I loved him every time I saw him or spoke to him and during this time it could not be said enough.

I remember my dad as a man who would cut the elderly neighbors' lawns on our street without ever being asked. He knew who was genuinely in need of help and did it because it needed to be done. He would do anything to make sure his three girls had the things they needed. Once he completely disassembled then reassembled his truck and drove it for well over twenty five years even though he had a car. He enlarged the size of the little house he bought to three times it's original size to make sure that we would be comfortable as a family. He would give us his last dime, tucked us in at night and told us he loved us at least twice a day. Particularly in contrast with our mother who openly cheated on him and never showed love or said that she loved any of us, he will always be held in very high regard by me. However, dad was human and he made the mistake of being an alcoholic and not seeking help. He was now paying for it with his health.

Towards the end, I could see the decline. At times, he would stare at a blank wall. I promptly put up pictures of family in his room at the nursing home. I never thought that I would see my strong father reduced to this. It was unnecessary, painful, and unfair. One day, I asked him about his will. He told my sister and I that he had some papers at the house in his bedroom. They weren't in the nightstand that we looked in so we kept searching the whole room. Seeing several stacks of paper under his bed we looked and were stunned. Under his bed were dozens and dozens of Smirnoff vodka bottles. I was only about 12 or 13 when I had last seen him drink anything and that was Miller beer. After that, I never saw him drink anything and could not believe the small mountain of bottles beneath his bed. Mary and I both gasped in shock. We stopped looking through his papers and went back to his bedside.

Just one week after he was admitted to the nursing home, he was rushed to the hospital again with a severe buildup of fluid in his abdomen. While there, I asked the doctor how long my father could be expected to live and was told two weeks at the most. I don't know what I was guessing or expecting but it certainly wasn't two weeks of life at the most. What is still striking to me is that even at that point I didn't break down into a mass of tears and incoherent sobs. I immediately went back to my father and held his hand.

Just days later my father passed away. I got the call and raced on rain slicked highways to reach the nursing home. Just looking into his eyes, I saw that he was gone. I followed the ambulance to the hospital and they were trying to save him but nothing could be done. I had to break the news to my sisters and my uncle. What is striking to me is how I was on autopilot, numb until he died. That's when the tears came and six years later they still haven't gone.

Since he died, not a single day has passed that I've not thought of him. I wish he was still here. I am not a child but I still need my dad for all the advice and hugs and I love yous that will never be replaced by anyone else. Perhaps I'm selfish but I've always been a daddy's girl.