A Second Chance With My Dad

From the beginning as far as I can remember my childhood was terrible. There was a lot of screaming and hitting. I actually believed that was a normal life always thinking when I grow up, I will be different. I will be nicer to my children.

It was my father and alcoholism. He was so nice when he was sober but if he came home drunk, he was mean. It was like walking on egg shells. Afraid that the slightest thing would be wrong which wasn't hard to do.

Being in the service occasionally he be transferred away and life was so peaceful. We missed him but my brother, sister and I did not miss the friction in our lives.

When he came home though, it all started again. My mother was too terrified to leave. She'd try to protect us and she'd wind up getting beat up.

He was away in Thailand for a year. I was 16, my sister 15 and my brother 13. Before he came home, I told them i would not allow the abuse anymore. When asked, I told them I was going to stand up to him. I would also not allow him to hit our mother anymore. We all talked and figured if we were going to get hurt, we may as well fight back. We told our mother none of this. We didn't want her to worry. At this time we were all taller than our mother.

Dad came home and as usual he'd go out, come home about two in the morning and get our mother out of bed. He'd wake us up screaming and threatening her. So the three of us got out of bed and walked out in between our mother and father.

The first time Dad was dumbfounded asking what we thought we were doing. We just told him he wasn't hitting our mother anymore. He started shoving us, not hitting us. We just ran back. It was different when we stood up to him. Ou mother trying to help us jumped in and he punched her. That was it. We just hungon him where he couldn't do anything. He got away and took off out the door. Our mother didn't know what to think. Her concern was getting hurt. We apologized but told her this was no longer going on. He'd have to deal with us.

Different nights he tried a couple more times with the same response from us. After that he moved out. My mother then divorced him which was always something she was terrified to do.

Over the years we did not see our father but I missed my father so much. I hated alcoholism. He just would not let it go and we could not have that in our lives.

At the age of 48 my mother died of cancer. Seemed so wrong that she was robbed of her life so soon. I would ask God why but I learned to believe she was in a better place. No pain or worries.

Later, I thought more and more about my father wondering where he might be. If he was even dead or alive. I wrote letters and sent them to the Air Force and any address I could find having to do with the military service. I didn't hear anything for months.

Then one day I received a letter in the mail from Arizona. It was my father. He wrote his phone number and asked is my mother was up to something.

So I called and he answered. Again he asked what my mother was up to. I told him she had died in 1984 and there was a long silence. I later found out that my father still loved my mother. I know he had a weird way of showing it and by now you are probably wondering why I would want anything to do with him but there was a need there. A need that I really never expected to fill but it was there and worth the try to me.

My father still drank but mellowed out a bit. It was still obnoxious. He was in Arizona and I was in Pennsylvania so we had quite a bit of distance between us. We'd try and keep in touch but argue too much. At times not speaking for months. My brother and sister tried also but it was harder for them which I understood.

One day I get a phone call from a hospital in Phoenix. At first they thought my father had a heart attack but found his liver was 60% damaged. If he kept drinking, he'd die soon. I asked him what he was going to do. He told me he wasn't sure. I then told him I watched my mother die of cancer and want to live. If he was going to kill himself I wanted nothing to do with it.

That angered him very much. Too my surprise he quit drinking. He started going to AA. I myself, quit smoking. I suggested he try and cut down on smoking. He quit. he was becoming a whole new person. He'd come to visit. He got to know his family.

The only problems we had was the past. Guilt was hitting him and he'd try to reason with me about it. Make excuses. It only caused more arguments. It was something we both had to let go of. We had to start a new beginning. My second chance to have a father.

We both went to counseling, separately of course in different states.  Our relationship grew and we caught up on so many things.  As long as I sent pictures and phone cards he was in heaven.  This went on for years.

In October 2007 I tried calling Dad for two days with no answer or returned calls.  This was very unusual so I finally contacted the police in Arizona to have them go to his house.  As I sat and waited for the dreadful call I cried.  I just expected the worse.

After about 20 minutes the police called.  My father was still alive but in a home.  A neighbor had seen all the police and ran to tell them what had happend.  My father had started drinking again and his sugar spiked.  He went to this neighbor's home and passed out.  They had him admitted into the hospital but had no way of contacting me.  They could only find older phone numbers for me.  He was in the hospital a couple days then admitted into a home.  He was still in a very confused state.  Even when I talked to him on the phone, he was hard to understand and did not even remember talking to me.

Next step, I went to Phoenix to visit my father in the home.  He was given two options.  He had to stay in the home at that time or come home with me.  He did not like either.  He just wanted to go home but that was not an option.  He finally agreed to go home with me because he did not want to stay in the home.

The next day I took him out of the home and we began sorting and throwing out.  He wanted to take his truck and I could not just take everything away from him so decided to drive us home to PA.  After 3 weeks of cleaning and having a big yard sale we put the house up for sale.  We were ready to go.  We came home.

My father lived with me from November to May.  We had some very interesting conversations.  We had our arguments but I really enjoyed having him here.  He loved my dogs.  We'd watch games on TV and play.  We talked about God and my beliefs which at times I wondered if he really believed.  It was something I really wanted him to do.  I hope I at least planted that seed.

As time went on though he became more and more depressed.  He spent most of his time in his room.  He'd even eat in there and not much food.  He wasn't drinking but I could not stand him just living in that room.  He was so unhappy.  He'd beg me to let him go home but I wouldn't.

Finally I agreed to let him go home.  He sent his truck down ahead and I put him on a plane.  He was so happy.  I knew when I kissed him and toldhim I loved him, I'd never see him again.

The last couple of months we'd talk on the phone almost every Sunday.  Sometimes other days.  He was happy.  You could hear it in his voice.  I felt good about my decision even though a couple times I felt when I talked to him he was drinking.  I could only do so much.

On December 13 I came home to a phone message from the police at my father's home.  This time I knew what it was and I was right.  My father's body was found in his livingroom by a neighbor.  He had laid there about 2 or 3 days.  Later we found out it was a heart attack.

While he was here he'd tell me he wanted to live there, die there, and be buried in the Phoenix National Vets cemetery.  Well I gave him his wish.  I just miss him so much.  I miss those Sunday night calls and I miss his voice. 

I thank God for my second chance.  I know many people may wonder why I would want that but I know alcoholism is a disease.  When drinking it was not my father.  When sober he was a great guy that just could not fight that demon.  His life was not the greatest either.  He lost his father to cancer at 8 years old and that is one memory that always stayed with him.  That's one memory I always heard about.

So I got my second chance and no one can ever take that away.   I have memories that no one can ever take away and hopefully I will spend more time with my father and mother again and we will be part of an even bigger family.