Today would have been my dad’s 58th birthday. Almost 60. Wow. He’s been gone for 2.5 years. It seems like way longer sometimes. When I think about blogging that morning I got the news…that seems like ages ago. I spent an hour this morning trying to find this picture of Hannah and my dad from when she was like 14 months or so. I remembered seeing it this past weekend and I could have sworn I saw it online. After an hour of searching and digging I remembered that I hadn’t seen it online. I saw it in an old photo album at home that I hadn’t seen in years. Then I got totally upset that I didn’t have the picture to post here since that’s why I started looking for it to begin with. Upset that I wanted this picture online because I hadn’t seen it in years. Upset that there will never be pictures of Livie with him. Upset that he made SO many mistakes and created so much distress and anguish in our family. Upset that he was a drunk. Upset that I only have like 3 pictures of us together in my adult life because of the huge rift he created. Upset that I was so young when my bitterness toward him began. Upset that it took him dying for me to realize how much I loved him. Upset that it took him dying to remember many good times we had. Upset that I’m 28 years old and am just now realizing how he truly had an addiction and it wasn’t something that was easy for him to stop….or else he would have. Upset that I’m just now realizing that he wanted to stop…and couldn’t. That he would have traded it all to have his wife, his true love, back…and have his kids back. So he just drank more because that kind of guilt is unbearable. Upset because I’m realizing this way too late. Upset because EVERYONE else that knew him saw how wonderful he was outside of the booze…saw how funny and entertaining he was. I saw these things too. But the drinking? It took it away from me. From my memories. From my concern.

Upset because I miss him.

I used to think that when people said that alcoholism or drug addiction or depression were genetic disorders that were passed on to children…generation after generation….I thought that was ridiculous. Those were things people chose. Those were selfish actions and they chose them. But now…now that I’m finally a grown up…I’m seeing that’s not the case. Who would choose to continue a problem that destroys their whole lives? My dad isn’t alive for me to tell him this. So I’m telling all of you instead.

I forgave my dad years ago. Well, at least I thought I did. But now? Now I truly have.

Happy birthday Dad. We love you.