As a child, I never really understood why my mom and dad got divorced. I was three when they signed the papers and made it official. Honestly, at three-years-old the only part I did understand was that my father moved far away and that I had to split my holidays between two parents; and let’s be honest, what child doesn’t love Santa visiting them at two separate houses?
However, as I got older I started noticing how much alcohol consumed your life. How even though you only had us twice a month for two days each time, you still had to have all of your friends over to drink around a fire. I started to notice how mom wouldn’t always let us go to your house when you showed up smelling like you had just left a bar. I started understanding that alcohol wasn’t just something you did in your spare time anymore, it was something that you needed to even tolerate your four children. What I didn’t understand was me crying, begging you to stay home for a little bit longer and you telling me that all you wanted to do was go out and have a good time without your children pestering you. I just didn’t understand why we were never good enough.
For the longest time I felt sorry for myself. I stopped visiting you, but I don’t think you ever really understood why. I stopped talking about you to my friends because, after all, what nice things would I say about you? It’s hard, even now, begging you to get help and being told no. It’s hard receiving drunk Facebook messages from you where you blame me for not helping you during your time of need. I hope you understand that there is only so much help I can offer after 22-years-of-life, in which you weren’t always around.
You weren’t around during the years that were most important where I was shaped into the person that I am today. You skipped every single “Daddy-Daughter” dance even though mom had bought me the most beautiful dress for them, you never showed up for prom pictures, you never came to either of your sons’ graduation from Marine boot camp, you never took the time to meet any of my boyfriends and scare them off with some fake gun story like all the dads in the movies do; you never taught me how to drive, you never came to visit me when I moved out of state, and you never came to visit the first house I bought as an adult. So to the parent who chose alcohol over me, I don’t want you to ever take credit for shaping me into who I am as a person today. You don’t deserve that title. As much as my mother and I argued, it was she who shaped me into the woman that I am today. It was her that showed me that I don’t need to rely on anyone to get to where I want to be in life.
The saying goes absence makes the heart grow fonder, in this case that saying is wrong. Absence made the heart grow stronger and more independent. Dad, don’t ever think that I don’t love you because I do, but don’t ever think that I will forgive you for only partially being around. Honestly, I don’t feel sorry for myself for you choosing alcohol over me and my siblings anymore. I feel sorry for you, that you never got to see your incredible children grow and blossom into the unique individuals they are today.
