“ If he loved you more than drugs he would quit.”

Its happening.. all over again. He didn’t answer.

It wasn’t always like this. That I was aware of anyway. One of my first memories of my father was with my Papa fishing. Papa’s little fishing boat and a beer cooler within reach. It was Papa’s way or no way, down to how to tie the knot. My father was strong like my papa, dark hair and tall. He didn’t smile, he smerked and still does. Goofy and witty. He was my hero. They were my hero’s.

My papa adored him till his last day, his son. I couldn’t fully understand why, after all he and my dad had been though, until I had my daughter. What I am feeling, what I have been feeling for so long, I know he did too. Waiting for a call. Sitting on the front porch for hours wishing he would pull up. Hoping everyone inside wouldn’t let on that they thought you were a fool for believing him when you finally walked back in. We waited anyway. We held close to the phone. We answered 20 days later when he finally called back from some random number with some excuse about why he couldn’t make it.

I wonder if my Papa had the same thoughts I do? Was there something I could’ve done or said? Was it my fault? Will he ever recover? Will I always feel like something in my life is missing? Is there anything I can do to help him? What if its the last time I see or hear from him? Will he ever be who he was before?

My father has struggled with addiction his whole life.

When I was about 5 meth became his drug of choice. Although my mom struggled with addiction, she was still there (partially). At this time in my life I became a mother figure to my sister. I would bathe her, make sure we had food. Call my grandparents when we needed something or didn’t hear from my mom or dad. It was also at this time I started to see my father slip away further and further.

I can still clearly hear my mom and dad screaming at each other one dark night. It was cold and neither me nor my sister were dressed for it, but we stood in between my mom and dad in the driveway as they yelled. As I watched my 3 year old sister run after him begging him in tears not to leave… He tore out of the dirt driveway in his old primer Nova. I can still smell and taste the dirt. I remember holding her and walking back to the front door where my mother was standing smoking a cigarette.

Growing up all I ever heard was “if he loved you more than drugs he would quit”. This is what shaped my view of him in my teen years.

I held so much anger and hate towards him in these years and these feelings made it hard to miss him. Honestly I thought the next time I would ever hear anything about him was when someone found him in a ditch after a drug deal gone bad or he overdosed. Its harsh, I know, but THIS IS HOW I FELT.

I saw him a few times over these years and most of them were at a jail or prison. No matter what, my Papa insisted we go with him to see my father. He would even make sure to bring a five gallon bag with us full of quarters so we could use the vending and make sure to get my dad a Dr Pepper. During these visits he would make empty promises that he was going to stay clean and change his life. I know each time, my Papa believed him. During the car ride back he would be happier than the way there. He would tell us how happy he was to have seen my dad clean.

In my early twenties I started to want to understand addiction better. It led me to a podcast called LAST DAY that changed my life. I am not kidding.. CHANGED MY LIFE. Not only did I understand addiction better, I understood my dad better. I understood my pain better. I understood my life better.

He didn’t choose to be an addict.

He didn’t choose to bring his family all of this suffering.

He was simply ill-equipped to cope with the trauma he suffered.

I wanted to have my dad back. HE IS NOT HIS ADDICTION. In my head he wasn’t him for so long… but he is. He is still himself. He is still my father. He is still my hero after all. He has taught me many lessons in this life. He has been a blessing in more ways than he will ever know.

After he reached out to me from prison, I went back and fourth with myself. I was about to give birth to my first daughter.

I questioned if I wanted him in her life. Did I want her to feel sad when he didn’t show to her birthday parties? Did I want her to feel abandon by a person who was supposed to show up? Than I questioned if it would give him an incentive to really get clean, having a relationship with his first granddaughter? I went over it again and again.

Ultimately I decided to have a relationship with him. First and foremost I will protect my daughters feelings, and I will control my expectations.

Today, I still feel the same way when he doesn’t answer.

Fear, anxiety, and sadness.

It will never get any easier. My father is an person, he suffers with addiction, but he is loved. For who he is. For his struggles. For his pain.