Dad,

I am sorry.

When I was younger, I was really ignorant. I had always seen you as a superman. My Dad – the fixer of all toys, the protector from all boys. You were my absolute hero.

When you started drinking, or at least when your drinking started to cause us problems, I thought ‘why doesn’t he just stop?’.

Initially I felt rejected. Maybe it was because you don’t love us enough. Maybe you regretted having children. Maybe we ruined your life – would you have been better off without us?

Then I thought, maybe he just can’t. That made me angry. How can you be that weak? My Dad, the legend, can’t handle his drink.

Tonight, I handed you a glass of vodka as you spewed blood. I looked into your bloodshot, puffy eyes as you told me how you had lost the battle, that alcohol had beaten you. Even then as you admitted defeat, you still tried to protect me, telling me how sad you were to know you wouldn’t walk me down the aisle – informing me of how you wanted your finances to be divided up to cover my wedding day.

It was heart breaking to listen too, not just to realise that what you were saying was a real possibility but to know that the words you said to yourself that night as you beat yourself up inside, was all the things I had said to you all those years ago as an angry teenager.

As I sat a few months later at the side of your coffin, the words haunted my brain. ‘Alcoholism is a weakness, not an illness”, “You aren’t a Man. You are an embarrassment to your family”, “Life would be so much better if you just let me alone”.

Now my brain can rationalise it to know that those things weren’t said without provoke from your side – you have a pretty mean tongue. However they were said and I can’t undo them.

I can only hope that somehow you can hear me when I say I am sorry. I will never forgive myself for the things I said. I am the reason you aren’t hear today. I really wish I knew better. Hindsight is a wonderful thing.

Love,
Your Daughter