Being on tattle makes you realise how everyone is going through something in their own way. Everyone has a story and they aren’t always pleasant. My dad was an alcoholic and it took him quite quickly. He started drinking heavily when I was 10 and he passed away two weeks before I turned 14. His funeral was two days after my birthday. At the time I was numb from it and I’m ashamed to say I had disowned him at this point. But, I look back and realise I was only a child and had tried and pleaded so many times for him to stop but nothing ever sank in. He went to rehab a few times but, never any joy. I remember thinking, how could he do this to us, he always said my brother and I were his world so how could he hurt us so much. For years I bottled it up and never said anything about what happened, most people didn’t even know my dad had passed. When I would tell friends in conversation they would cry and I would feel nothing. It wasn’t until I got a bit older at 17 when I had almost an epiphany. I was on a pilgrimage in Lourdes helping the elderly with college (I’m not very religious by the way but, I’ve always been raised a catholic). One night we had a nighttime mass outside and lit some candles and was encouraged to share experiences we had. People started opening their hearts about family members they had lost and how they missed them. I didn’t say anything as it’s not my thing. But, quietly I took myself off, lit a candle and said, I forgive you dad. It felt as though a weight had been lifted from my shoulders. From then onwards, I realised that being an alcoholic is not a life choice and I believe it is a mental illness. Most people who have it have no control just like depression. Telling them to stop or cheer up will not work. It is so much more intricate than that. If I could give my younger self some wisdom, I would say to let the person know that you love them and you’ll always be there for them and remember the person they once were. Gently encourage them to get some help but, don’t push them as this usually backfires. But, most of all, don’t blame yourself or anyone else. It is never the answer and causes so much hurt. My auntie who is a horrible person blamed me and called me a murderer when my dad passed away. She said I should have done more as I was his baby girl. It’s always stuck with me. It’s 12 years today since my dad passed away and I can now openly talk about him with my family and friends in a positive light. Remembering all the cherished memories we were lucky to make. Even now I’m finding things out about him that I never knew and sharing anecdotes with my mum.
Sending my love to everyone dealing with this themselves or with someone they love