Writing Through Grief
In December of 2020, two days before Christmas, I found out that my dad had died, alone in his apartment, from complications related to Alcohol Use Disorder (AUD). For context, my father, Eddie, had suffered most of his 69 years with addiction- but this didn’t stop him from being an immensely talented drummer, an incredibly intelligent, charming, funny and charismatic man, and, most importantly, my best friend. From day one, he was all-in as a dad, and never ever did I wonder whether he had my back. Growing up with him was an absolute blast- until it wasn’t. As I got older and more self-sufficient, I think he felt he could relax a little bit and fall back on drinking when he experienced anxiety and stress. There was plenty of that to be had, as my parents lived most of their 24-year marriage either yelling at -or ignoring- each other.
I was not taught about addiction, recovery, sobriety, or harm reduction growing up (since his death, I have become an advocate for those who suffer and have been pursuing an education on these topics). I knew that Eddie struggled (a lot), and it was one of many sources of ire for my mom. But no one talked about it, and I felt ashamed for what went on in our home- like I was the only one with parents who shouldn’t be married and one who imbibed too much. I really had no idea how to support myself in these feelings, or how to support my dad, to be able to help in any way. Most individuals who suffer with addiction do so because they need to escape something painful. Depression, a traumatic experience, anxiety -sometimes all of those, and more. In any event, I didn’t know what I didn’t know at the time…so instead, I got angry. I passed judgement. I yelled at him while he was drunk and acting in a ridiculous manner. It felt so…beneath him. After all, here was this adult, educated, amazing man…acting like a toddler. It grossed me out and I felt so helpless. And yet, I never knew that there were myriad resources available to adult children of alcoholics like me. So, whenever my father would relapse, I would retreat from him. And it was so, so painful. I always missed him terribly, but my anger would keep me away until he was “better” and would take another stab at sobriety.
Thus, it will forever break my heart that in his last days, I was beyond angry at him. In the height of the pandemic, not being able to see me, my husband, and his grandson in-person had pushed him into a wall of depression and grief. He found solace at the bottom of countless glasses of McClelland’s Scotch Whiskey. Until the fateful day when his body simply couldn’t take it any longer. And he was alone. I never had the chance to say goodbye, and make sure he knew that he was my hero. He was so much more than his dependence. I loved him fiercely.
I write all of this to say that in the last (almost three) years that he’s been gone, I have evolved tremendously. At first, of course, my grief was paralyzing. I couldn’t do anything productive. I sat in bubble baths for hours or ran miles and miles until my doctor told me to chill out because my pelvis was going numb. I never thought I would laugh again, let alone create anything or be mildly happy. You never “get over” losing your person. Honestly, now, I hope a part of that shock never fades. It reminds me of how real my father was, how much I love him and how much he taught me. I see him every single day in so many things- the pink sky at sunrise (his favorite color), a Stevie Ray Vaughan song on the radio, the way the sun gleams through the gorgeous fall foliage on our favorite hiking trails. He is a part of everything I am and everything I do, and if it weren’t for his love and preparation, many opportunities I’ve been presented with since 2020 would not be happening. I know this is his way of telling me “You’ve got this! Keep going!” Eddie’s passing taught me how precious life is, as cliché as it sounds. We are all fragile. He has inspired me to live the way I should and fulfill his dreams, in a way, by doing what I’m passionate about for the rest of my days. Nothing will help you live like losing someone you love. Do it -LIVE- while there’s still time. Write, paint, sculpt, sing...MAKE ART. Nothing has shaped my journey the way my grief has. So, now, I let it flow. I take my time, I write what I feel, I scream and cry when I need to, I laugh with my husband and my son. I make sure to tell lots of stories about my father and keep his name and memory alive. I will use every ounce of inspiration that my grief can provide. Emotions are our greatest tools as creatives. Through your experience, be it sadness, love, joy, rage- see the possibility. See the progress. Never stop. I, for one, would love to see where your journey takes you.
