Hello, beautiful souls. Today, as I prepare for surgery, a cascade of memories floods my mind, compelling me to reflect on the complex relationships that have shaped my life—especially with my father. It’s a story of love, loss, and the enduring pain of family legacies marred by mental illness and substance abuse.

A Father’s Shadow

My journey with my father began in earnest only when I was about 15 years old, after years of him being a mere concept, a shadow that loomed large but felt distant. The image I had of him from the stories and the rare, fragmented interactions were nothing like the man I met. He was not the burly, intimidating figure I had imagined but a man marked by his softness and his struggles.

Connecting Through Shared Loves

Our shared interests—cars, food, and small idiosyncrasies like our love for pickles—brought us closer. These connections were the threads that wove our relationship into something tangible and meaningful. He introduced me to my first car, celebrated my successes, and shared simple joys like eating shrimp or challenging each other with horseradish contests.

The Struggle with Substance

However, beneath these shared moments were the darker undercurrents of his alcoholism. His quiet evenings spent drinking, the smell of scotch, and the silent battles he fought against his addiction often overshadowed the brighter moments. It was a part of him as much as any of his kinder traits—a part that eventually made it difficult for me to maintain our relationship.

The Painful Decision to Step Away

As I grew older, the reality of my father’s condition—his hospitalizations, the Baker Acts, his nearly fatal alcohol levels—became too much to bear. Like my mother, his presence in my life became a source of profound anxiety and pain. The decision to distance myself was heart-wrenching but necessary for my sanity and the wellbeing of my own family.

Wrestling with Loss and Legacy

Living with the decision to cut ties with a parent is a complex, often painful experience. The good memories make you yearn for what could have been, while the bad ones remind you of why boundaries are necessary. It’s a constant balancing act—mourning the loss of the parent you wish you had while dealing with the reality of the parent you do.

Reflections and Moving Forward

As I pack for surgery, these memories serve as reminders of where I’ve been and the strength I’ve had to find within myself. They remind me that while we can choose our paths, we cannot always choose the circumstances that set us on them. But we can choose how to grow from them, how to learn, and how to protect our peace.

Thank you for allowing me to share these reflections. Each story I tell is a step toward healing, understanding, and hopefully helping others feel less alone in their struggles.

With hope and resilience,
🌸