Replies to This Discussion

Permalink Reply by marie on March 6, 2012 at 6:03pm

Hugs to you Emily. I know your dad was proud of who you have become. We all just seem to try to get by moment  by moment, day by day. We're here for you. We all seem to cry together.

Permalink Reply by Cynthia Horacek on March 6, 2012 at 6:13pm

Dear Emily -

My dad died in January after a brief illness.   We did not get along for most of my life because we, too, were so much alike.  I was truly my father's daughter! We were both fiercely independent, controlling and didn't want to be told what to do; so when he told me what to do, of course I did the opposite.  My dad did not die suddenly, and it probably doesn't help you, but we had time to prepare, even if we didn't really think it would happen as soon as it did.  Another difference was he was 96  - and he was ready to leave us; he told us.  But here I am at 59 years old, also the youngest sibling - with three older brothers and mother with Alzheimer's - still wishing I had been a better daughter.  I loved my dad, too; I'm just glad I was able to tell him, even if he couldn't say the words out loud back to me, because he didn't "do" emotions.

I think that you probably did the best you could do as your father's daughter.  No one expects their children to show their appreciate for all they did as a parent.  And speaking as a parent, we may say it differently, or we may tell our children that they should show us respect and should appreciate us, but I have a feeling your dad knew that you and your siblings did appreciate all he did for you.  It's not too late for you to "talk" to him; I lost my husband in Nov, 2010 and I talk to him every day.  But even though it's been over a year since he left us, I still miss him terribly.  I understand you miss your dad more than I can even guess, and it sounds like you had a special relationship with him.  Guilt is part of grief; we all do the "I wish I had..."; "I should have...."  "why didn't I....." and the list goes on.  

Please try to be gentle with yourself.  Forgive yourself your errors; you are, after all, only human and none of us are perfect.  Please try not to be alone too much - seek out your friends for support and comfort.  Celebrate your birthday - ask yourself, what would Dad have wanted me to do today?  And be honest with your answer.  He would probably want to see you not being alone at the very least. 

Lots of hugs are being sent your way.  Hang in there.  This is a difficult journey and one best not taken alone if possible. Good luck to you.  Just take it one foot in front of the other, one day at a time.  

Permalink Reply by Constance L. Freundt on March 6, 2012 at 7:03pm

Emily, big hugs to you and lots of love.  I lost my dad unexpectedly over 1.5 years ago and I too regret not having once last chance to tell him how I felt.  I had a difficult childhood because my dad became a physically abusive alcoholic after he lost his business.  It took him years to get over it but eventually he did and my family fully recovered from everything that happened in those earlier years.  He spent the rest of his life bending over backwards for us and I knew it was because he was still trying to make up for the wrongs he had done.

Fast forward about 20 years and I end up losing a business just like he did; and I too went to a very dark place.  Although I didn't become an alcoholic or physically abuse my daughter, I experienced the feelings of depression and failure and not wanting to be here any more.  It took me years to get over it but I now finally have.  My father left this earthly plane a week after Father's Day 2010.  On Father's Day, I had planned to share what I had learned through my experience and to tell my dad that he had nothing to be sorry for, that I knew he did the best he could in what was a very dark time for him.  I wanted to tell him that he could stop making up for it, stop seeking absolution over and over.  But, I hesitated that Father's Day and I never got the chance again. 

I will always regret not speaking up when I had the chance.  However, last night a strange thing happened.  For the 2nd time since his death, my dad came to me in that stage when you are just falling asleep.  In my dream, I was coughing so hard I couldn't catch my breath and suddenly there he was rescuing me.  His presence was so real... I could feel his arm touching mine and I could smell him. When he called my name, it was as if he was alive.  But, then I got frightened because it WAS so real and he told me I better go to my sister and he left just as suddenly as he came, 

I believe my dad came to me intentionally because I asked him to.  And, I know that he will come again and I will get a chance to tell him what I didn't before.  And, I think, if you want him to, you can ask your dad to visit you and he will when he knows you are ready.  You will still get an opportunity to let him how much he meant to you, even though I am sure he already does!

In the meantime, be gentle on yourself and know that your father is around. Take it day by day, minute by minute if you have to.  While the pain doesn't go away, it does get easier.  

Love & Light,

Connie

Permalink Reply by Emily K on March 6, 2012 at 8:34pm

Thank you all for sharing your stories and offering comfort to me, it means a lot and is nice to have support and guidance from others who have or are experiencing similar things. I am sure he knows and I hope he does but it is still hard to grasp reality. 

Permalink Reply by Storyas Fawnfeather on March 6, 2012 at 10:46pm

Emily, Happy Birthday!  I am so sorry that you have to go through it alone.  I loved my dad and was close to him and thus am on the I Miss My Dad site, but as close as i was to my dad, I was even closer to my mom.  The relationship I had with my mom was like the one you had with your dad.  My mom died on December 8 and my birthday was January 8.  I always went out to eat with her on my birthday, usually to Red Lobster.  I remember driving by a Red Lobster right before my birthday and just loosing it and getting physically ill both.  I just could not believe she was not there.  So, I know how you feel.  It never goes away, but as the years go on, it does get better.  And, I'm sure it is made harder by how young you are.  In many ways, you still need a daddy.  Let me assure you of one thing - he loves you and he knows how much you loved him even if you didn't always get along and didn't always get each other.  Do I always believe that for myself - No, but I know it is a fact for other people.  Why?  Because guilt gets in the way with me just like it does you.  Let me say that guilt is an O so common part of grief, and it can take some time to go away.  Even when there is nothing to feel guilty about, we often feel guilty.  I remember right after my mom died that I went to a grief support group, and a lady there had just lost her son.  She said her son loved cheesy potatoes, so she felt guilty if she ate cheesy potatoes.  Was she wrong to eat cheesy potatoes?  No.  Did she have any reason to feel guilty if she ate cheesy potatoes?  No.  But, grief makes us feel guilty like that.  I still feel guilty when I go out to eat without my mom, because that was our thing.  I still can't go to a Red Lobster, and I still can't go to an Indian restaurant - that was our thing.  But, sometimes that guilt is more complicated for people who come from homes with addiction in them.  I'm going to admit something here I don't admit to a lot of people, because I love my dad and don't want to make him look bad.  But, my dad drank way too heavily for about 20-30 years of his life.  I thought he was an alcoholic.  Maybe he was, but he was also a victim of severe child abuse, and he had a lot of handicaps due to that.  He died from Parkinsons, which may have been from blows to the head from child abuse.  But, when he got pain pills, he quit drinking.  He was trying to self medicate.  But, maybe all alcoholics are trying to self medicate.  I don't know.  He did quit drinking, and I'm glad I had several years of a sober father.  But, when he was drinking, for whatever reason, our family picked up the same dynamic of any family caught in addiction.  And, my mom, to compensate, became like your dad.  She was the one who was always there for me.  She was the one who was at my school things, my graduations, my whatever - she was always there for me.  We were also very poor, so she would buy fabric on sale for $1 a yard and make me dresses and clothes that were so beautiful my friends who came from money were jealous of my clothes.  And, I was close to her in so many ways.  We went out to eat a lot.  We watched movies at home together a lot.  She cooked for me a lot.  Even though I stunk at sewing, every few weeks we'd have a day where we would sew together - which meant my mom sewing and fixing what I messed up.  And, I cherish those memories.  On the other hand, I know I didn't appreciate her enough.  As her body was lowered into the ground, I had a vision of my life that was kinda like how they say when people die their life passes before their eyes.  My mom was the one who died, but my life passed before my eyes.  And, I remembered time after time that I'd helped people who had much more than my mom (remember, I said we were poor), because I had learned to be codependent by my dad's drinking.  I was being codependent with those people, and there were many times I should have been helping my mom instead.  All of that hit me so hard, and I longed to roll back the clock and be able to do it right.  But, I couldn't.  And, I've felt guilt every since.  Addiction in a family makes grief harder.  I am convinced of that.  I've been trying to get over my codependency since then, and am much better than I used to be.  Also, my mom was very conservative, and I was very liberal.  She would try to lead me to a conservative way of thinking, and I would be thinking that would lead me to be the wife of an alcoholic, so I ran from it instead.  So, she and I butted heads a lot.  And, there were times that I took my anger at my dad out on her, because she was the safe target.  And, there were times when I didn't visit her as much as I should, because my dad's drinking and behaviors kept me away.  And, I feel guilty for all of that.  After she died, my dad quit drinking and then got sick.  My mom has been dead a little over seven years, and I've taken care of my dad most of that time.  He died about nine months ago.  During that time I took care of him, he quit drinking and we became very close and it kills me that he is gone.  But, my mom has been gone seven years, and I'm still closer to her than I ever was to my dad due to her consistency throughout my entire life.  Just yesterday I was going through some of her things, and I cried like she'd died yesterday cuz I still miss her that much.  I was angry that things couldn't be like they were before she got sick.  But, on some level I'm starting to realize that she has to know how much I loved her.  She has to know that she was the most important person in my world ever.  She has to know that we both made mistakes, because that is what being involved in an addictive family dynamic causes (heck, even non addictive families make mistakes cuz we're human), but that the love underneath those mistakes is what matters.  She has to know that many days  I can barely breathe from missing her, and that the only thing I want in life is for it to be the way it used to be only better without the mistakes this time.  I think what you are going through is typical of grief in an addictive family environment.  And, I do not want to take anything away from my dad by telling this story.  I forgive him everything, and I love him.  But, my relationship with my mom was like your relationship with your dad.  And, my grief over her loss was like the grief you are feeling over the loss of your dad.  It never goes away (or at least in seven years it hasn't for me) but it does get better slowly.  If you can find a good grief support group, I would recommend joining one.  Most Hospices have them.  Funeral homes and churches often have them too.  I would look and see if you can find one that fits.  Or, if you have an Alanon sponsor since your mom was an alcoholic, talk to your sponsor about how you are feeling.  But, from the daughter of an addicted family member, I can tell you that what you are feeling is normal for an addictive family loss.  It is more intense than normal grief.  I can also tell you that your dad was the one who was always there for you and always wanting what was best for you, so if you could call him now and ask him to come to your rescue like when your car breaks down, I feel very confident that he would hold you in his arms and tell you that he knows you loved him, that your differences made your relationship richer and deeper and more meaningful, and that he wants you to let go of the guilt as soon as you can and be happy.  I'm sure my mom would say the same thing to me, as would my dad, and I have to remember that.  It is hard sometimes, because in an alcoholic family we build codependent tendencies even if we don't realize we are, and that codependency can make grieving even harder.  Often codependency leads us to give too much leniency to the addict and then be too hard on the other parent, because they are the safe parent.  When that safe parent dies, it can be so hard to forgive ourselves for the mistakes we made due to codependency.  Then, when the addict parent dies, we can be so worried for them and feel so much guilt that we didn't save them.  I truly believe that grieving is harder in family's with addiction, and I don't think grieving people from addictive families talk about it enough.  Honestly, until I just read your post, I thought I was the only person who felt this way in grieving.  I just wasn't meeting people who understood what I was going through in my grieving, because I wasn't meeting grieving people in support groups who had addiction or were admitting to addiction in their families.  Reading your post put some of the puzzle pieces together for me and helped me heal a little more too.  I hope that more people like us respond, so we can help each other heal.  Happy Birthday, Emily.  You deserve to have a happy birthday.  Your dad would want you to have a happy birthday.  And, your mom, underneath all of that addiction does love you and want you to have a happy birthday too.  I want you to have a happy birthday.  God wants you to have a happy birthday.  Try to find five minutes tomorrow where you can be free of your grief whether it be a few minutes in nature, a bubble bath, a huge ice cream Sundae - whatever it be that makes you happy, gives yourself even a few minutes to be happy.  I will say a prayer for you tomorrow on your birthday.

Permalink Reply by marie on March 7, 2012 at 7:16am

Thank you Storyas for sharing your story. There is therapy in hearing others and sharing. Hugs to you and Emily.