Matthew 11:28

I always used to pretend that my life was normal. In high school, I was asked all the time when my friends would come over why my Dad wasn't around. My go-to answer was always, "Oh, he's on a business trip". When the pool table suddenly disappeared from the house, it "went to my Dad's office", when in reality it went to his new loft because he moved out of the house. I can't tell you how many times I was ashamed, how often I blamed myself because I thought I wasn't a good enough daughter, and how often I thought I would be judged because of my Dad's actions. 

But let's back up. I want to take a moment to reflect on the good parts of my Dad's life. Because, as much as I didn't want to believe it during these last few years, my Dad was a good person. He was funny, and he had a witty sense of humor. When we were kids, I used to always sit on the couch of our living room and listen to him play the piano. There was this one song he used to play over and over... it was always my favorite. I used to go down to Hoover Country Club with him on Sunday afternoons to play golf and practice on the driving range. On Sunday afternoons when we weren't playing golf, I'd go with him down to his office while he worked. As a family, we used to gather around the kitchen table on Sunday nights and have "Family Game Night" playing Uno. Dad and I always ate the chicken wings while the rest of the family ate the pizza pockets. We were the only ones who liked them. He also gave me his love for mushrooms. And his nose.. he passed that along, too. One time, shortly after Chuck and I started dating, Chuck scared me because he wasn't answering his phone. I was a worried little 15 year old (who couldn't drive my own car) so Dad drove me over to his house at 10pm to make sure he had made it home alright. He used to give the best back scratches. And he made one heck of a fettuccine alfredo dish. If I take the time to dig deep, I can remember the good things about my Dad's life. The part that makes me so sad is how deep I have to dig through all of the troubles and trash of the last few years.

My Dad was an alcoholic. There's no hiding it, no making it grey or blurring the lines to hide the point. There it is, black and white and clear as glass. And I've always been ashamed to admit it. There's only a handful of my close friends that have actually heard the words straight from my mouth. The explanation was always very round-about and NEVER straightforward. But I guess you just reach a point when you have to admit it. And it took the realization that it wasn't my fault to be more comfortable with sharing it. 

Like I said before, my Dad was a good guy. He was a successful lawyer who graduated from The University of Alabama School of Law. He married a beautiful wife and had three amazing (if I may say so myself) daughters :) He always knew how to be the center of attention and truly had a good heart. But, slowly, the one drink every night after work turned into two drinks. Way too often I found myself going to bed in my early high school years, walking through the den heading to the bedroom, passing my Dad who was passed out on the couch. Dad's addiction got pretty bad in my early high school years and he moved out my senior year of high school. I missed the first two days of my junior year because we had to attend "Family Day" at Bradford Rehab. Now that was hard. But, unfortunately, it didn't last. The addiction came crawling back, and my family slowly started drifting apart. I'll never forget a conversation I had with my Dad on the phone my freshman year in college. He was leaving, again, for another rehab in California. I was in Tuscaloosa, at a friend's house, and got a phone call from him. I remember just crying on the phone, begging him to take it seriously and to try to get better because he was tearing us apart and he wasn't going to get any better unless he himself actually wanted to get better. But, as I've heard before and as I'll preach until the day I die, an alcoholic will only get better if they want to get better. I couldn't do anything to fix him. 

So, slowly but surely, the alcohol always returned. It didn't matter that we all told him it was going to kill him, the alcohol had control. Last October, he was admitted to the hospital, went into DT's (basically withdrawals for those who don't know what DT"s are) and was on a ventilator for a couple weeks. In total, he was in the hospital that stay for six weeks. After he was discharged, I talked to him pretty often. I tried to explain to him how sick he actually was (because he didn't remember much of it due to the sedation medications) and how important it was for him to stop drinking if he wanted to get better. But he didn't. Looking back, in these past several months, he didn't have the choice to stop drinking. It was either drink or go into withdrawals. There wasn't the choice of stopping anymore. He didn't have control over the addiction anymore. It controlled him. He was admitted to the hospital a total of four times between last October and now. 

This past Monday, my mom came home around 6pm and told us that Dad had been found dead at his home. The thing is, we all knew it was coming. He did it to himself, and it wasn't a surprise. But, at the same time, it was. No, I wasn't close to my dad anymore. I tried to forgive him time and time again, but he hurt me and my family so much that it was easier to just distance myself. I grew up a Daddy's girl, and then he took it away. But the fact of the matter is that he was still my Dad. He loved me more than he knew how to express. He knew that he hurt me. And he knew that it was his fault. And the fear that I have now is that he didn't know how much I loved him, too, and how I just wished all the time that I could just have my real Dad back.

Today we had the funeral service. Jamie (Dad's brother-in-law) led the service and did a wonderful job. He spoke about God's faithfulness and how, no matter what, God doesn't forsake his children. Even when we have forgotten how to rely on God, He still doesn't let us go. It doesn't matter that in these past six years, Dad's life wasn't exactly pleasing to God. What matters is that God never let Dad go, and they celebrated his coming home on Monday. Dad is no longer suffering, and he's no longer having to deal with the struggles of his earthly body and the burdens of being an alcoholic. My Dad grew up in a Christian home, and he accepted Christ many years ago. And God never gave up on Dad. I am so thankful that God is more forgiving than I am. If it were up to me, all of the heartache that Dad caused these past few years would weigh heavy on my heart and overshadow the fact that my Dad was a good guy. But God is a merciful and forgiving God. And for that, I am thankful.

During the service, Jamie said, "The last few years of Dan's life are not the sum total of his life." How true, and what a relief. As his daughter, it is hard to see the good. But as a believer, I am so thankful. 

I was so hurt these past few years because I loved my Dad so much. If I could go back in time, I would like to think that I would do things differently. The last time I saw Dad was when he was on the ventilator back in October. The last time I talked to him was over the phone in November. All I can do now is just pray that he knew I loved him, I was just hurt. And I'm thankful that I know he loved me, too.

"Come to me, all of you who are weary and carry heavy burdens, and I will give you rest." Matthew 11:28