To live fiercely

Today would have been my father's 81st birthday. This is the 24th birthday that has passed since his death, and perhaps the first that I wasn't punched in the gut with sadness. That's not to say that I don't miss my dad...maybe it's just taken me this long to get used to the fact that he is gone.

Which brings me to the subject of WHY he is gone. My dad died from cirrhosis of the liver. A fate that I consider myself lucky to have not shared...although I'm pretty sure I would have committed suicide LONG before I got that chance to develop cirrhosis had I not stopped drinking.

I've written about mine and my father's alcoholism over the years, but I don't think I've written about our shared social dysphoria. My dad really didn't talk much about his younger years, but one of the stories that he did share was of how he was  incredibly shy and self conscious about his appearance, but when he drank that melted away a bit and he could be one of the guys. Like my father, I was shy...I can remember being 4 years old and being so anxious around people outside of the family it was practically physically painful. I can't say that alcohol made me feel like everyone else, but it did make me feel Powerful. I still felt vulnerable, shy, but at least I FELT like I had some armor...like maybe I could survive this weird thing called life, especially early on...I remember being 7, searching for my dad's stash...knowing that if I could just have a drink it would quiet the horrors of life...

But as time went on, sometimes that incredible Anger-Armor was equaled in intensity by Hopelessness. I am convinced that only divine intervention saved me from suicide...a few times. Alcohol was a fickle friend...I never knew which direction it would take me...and my dad's death wasn't enough to convince me to quit drinking; I had to find sobriety through my face-plants along the road.

I wonder what my life would have been like had my father found recovery...had he found another way to deal with his own insecurities...had he been able to conquer the physical addiction. Would I be better or worse off? Would I have left ND? Would I have found my own path to recovery? How much longer would I have had him in my life? Honestly, I don't spend a lot of time thinking about these things, but his birth and death anniversaries are always a reminder of these things.

I have made peace with his death. And more importantly, I've made peace with his life choices. I miss my father, and over the years the good memories have become stronger than the not-so-good. I regret that we didn't have time to make more good memories, that I wasn't able to learn more from my dad, but I cherish what I do have. Today is also a reminder to cherish my own life...my own recovery. I chose a different path...sometimes rough, sometimes smooth. Sometimes ugly, sometimes breath-taking.

Maybe this year I can celebrate my father's birthday by living my life fiercely...for me, for him...for everyone who cares about me. A fierce life, where I don't let fear and insecurity rule my thoughts, decisions, and actions. Yeah, I dig it.