My dad has been a recovering alcoholic the majority of my life. And when he wasn’t a recovering alcoholic he was simply an alcoholic. I wasn’t always able to tell if he was currently drinking, but I know for sure that he is now.
My high school graduation was a few months ago, and he was hospitalized. He tried to go into rehab 3 days prior to the ceremony so he could see my speech and be there for me— sober. However, withdrawals suck. He was moved to intensive care and told if he left the hospital he would die.
Later that week came the news that he would need a new liver. Furthermore, that if he was to get a transplant he would need to be sober for five years, and that he wasn’t going to make it five years. Recently I was informed that that number was brought down to two years.
It hadn’t really hit me. I’ve know for a while how sick he is, but it didn’t really truly hit me until recently. I was watching a movie about some college kids and a girl said her dad was far gone. Then I realized that someday soon that would be me.
I realized that my dad wouldn’t make it to walk me down the isle. To meet his grandchildren. I still haven’t truly processed it yet, but it’s definitely starting to hit me.
Addiction is a horrible disease. Not only has it limited my time with my father, but it’s made it so that a lot of the memories I do have of him are affected. The memories of his drunken attempts of parenting will always stick with me. I love him so much, but it’s hard to separate the man from the disease sometimes.