Thursday, April 29, 2010

Thankful Thursday (in a completely convoluted way)

I promise that at some point I will get to the things that I am Thankful for today via this open letter.  Some things are just easier for me to write than to say.  Maybe that makes me chickenshit, or maybe it just makes me incredibly sensitive.  It doesn't matter.  Either way I have a voice.

Dear PG,
Blindsided.  That is the only word that can describe how I felt when I learned of your disease.  It came out of nowhere.  It hit me hard.  And, I am still trying to wrap my head around how you ended up here.  Here.  In the situation where you daily are choosing between life and death, and daily making the wrong choice.  Here.  Where your body is telling you to stop.  Just stop.  But you can't.  Your disease has taken over and polluted your mind.  You try your best to pretend that everything is going to be okay, and that you are not scared of death. But that is cowardly.  Cowardly, in that you are choosing the easy route.  You are choosing the path that requires the least amount of heart ache, pain, and trouble for you.  It is selfish.  You can no longer see past your own desires.  You can't see the pain in your loved ones eyes, the tears that have been shed on your behalf, and the big black hole that you will leave in our lives once you breathe no more.

I bounce back and forth between being completely understanding and sympathetic to your disease, and then a half hour later, I am angry.  Angry at you, for no longer being the man I knew.  For refusing help, for destroying our hopes, and for not wanting to live. 

So, I sit 1,200 miles away and removed from the situation, but still affected, and still just as helpless as those that are physically near you.  There is nothing I can do to make you change your mind.  There is nothing I can do to make you want to live, get healthy, enjoy the rest of your life.  You have to want to do that.  The only thing I can do is cling to the memories I have of you and the wonderful childhood you gave us.  I want that to be your legacy.  Not your alcoholism.  I wish my mere existence was enough to make you want to stay sober.  But, it isn't.  See this?

Six beautiful miracles all lined up on the couch.  Each one of them special to you in their own way.  Some share your blood and some share your heart.  They all adore you.  You.  You as you used to be.  I would love for you to impact their childhood the way you impacted mine.  It kills me that you are taking that from them. 

In all of this mess, what am I Thankful for this Thursday?  I am thankful for this.

Because regardless of what the future holds for you.  I look in the eyes of mine every day.  As emotionally confused as I am right now, I see my beautiful babies and I lose myself in them.  I lose myself in the daily grind, and the daily joy of their lives and I am Thankful for that.  They give me a reason to carry on, to make good choices, to take good care of myself.  I NEED to see their future.   

I recall a conversation with you once when I was about 15 years old.  You told me that you would support me financially and emotionally in any thing in the world that I wanted to do as long as it wasn't drugs.  You held up your end of the bargain and so did I.  Now, it is time for you to make that deal again.  To stop drowning your pain in a bottle that has no bottom, to ask for help, to lean on your family for support, and to want to be healthy.  I don't know how much time you have left before your organs fail you, but I fear that time is short. Suicide by shot glass is the way you will go, and devastation you will leave behind.

You once told me that there were 3 rules in life.


I always found that really clever and memorable, because it wasn't 3 rules, but 3 words.  I'll close with that.  Don't.Be.Stupid.

Love You Forever and Always,
Your Baby Girl

1 comment:

Chelsey - The Paper Mama said...

This is hard. My Dad is not making the best choices. It's hard to deal with that.