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Cleaning up

September 12, 2011

I was sitting in my mom’s car in the garage the other day.  In the trunk of the car were roughly 30 polo shirts, 15 pairs of pants and 15 ties.  In the back seat of the car were two large garbage bags full of undershirts, worn out t-shirts, socks and other miscellaneous clothing items.  This was the extent of my dad’s closet and dresser, which I had just emptied out for my mom.  As I sat there, I kept looking at the two garbage bags in the back seat.  Something was bothering me and I could not quite put my finger on the reason.  I was confused, because it was not sadness over getting rid of my dad’s stuff.  In the car, almost all of my dad’s life was there in shirts and pants, but I was not emotional about that.  Then it dawned on me.  The two trash bags are what were left of what my dad did my mom and me.  He was the driver, and he was taking us to the dump to dispose of us.

My dad died on August 31st and I have cried briefly only once since finding out.  Each day that goes by I feel myself getting angrier and angrier at him.  On top of the anger, I feel many more emotions.  I never knew you could feel so many emotions at one time.  I am grieving the loss of my father.  I am angry at the fact he did it to himself.  I am worried about my mom and how she is doing emotionally.  And I feel guilty about being mad at my dad.  I am really confused and I feel that sometimes my world is spinning out of control.  I don’t know how to stop it or where it will end, but I feel like I am sinking.

My wife, who has been absolutely wonderful during these past few weeks, often asks me how am I doing.  And my answer is I don’t know.  My dad is gone, and for that I am truly sad.  He was a wonderful father and an awesome husband.  Even though he drank throughout my life, he never once raised a hand to me, or my mother, in anger.  If a friend needed help, he was always there, regardless of the size of the task.  He was always there to help and to listen and offer advice if needed.  That is the man I truly miss and that is the man who was my role model.

In the end, my dad chose a bottle of Kentucky whiskey over everything else.  Knowing that, I really feel like that trash bag in the back seat.  It feels like a large portion of my life was just tossed away due to this horrible, self-inflicted disease.  I am left to wonder if I will ever get over my anger and forgive my dad or will I always feel like the bag of trash in the backseat, just waiting to get thrown out.

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From → Alcoholism

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