I recall a morning, cold as ever, bright and beautiful and the world around me was still new.
I was young. The world was changing, and my life was about to take on a brand-new look.
I was on a farm. I was living in the middle of a time that I never thought I would rethink or look to revisit in my mind.
I lived on a farm in a small therapeutic community for 11 months. I was cleared from my past and facing the facts that I needed to undergo a change.
My life had just been altered in ways that I was too young, or perhaps I was too numb or stunned to believe.
I remember the brightness around me. I remember the mountains and the empty trees that were covered and crystalized in white branches from the snow.
I remember . . .
I remember how white and brilliant the snow looked on the ground. I remember how the sky was so blue. There were no clouds at all, and the sun was full and bright.
The Old Man had just passed away. I was there for this. I was able to go home on a special leave and say my goodbyes. But more importantly, I was able to settle any of the unfinished business between us.
Or, at least I tried to.
I assume people were worried about me, or that they worried that I would freak out or run, or that I would do something dangerous or desperate. But no.
I never even thought about those things.
In all fairness, life hits us with surreal moments to which we find them, and we face them, almost numb in disbelief.
I never thought that this would be me.
I never assumed that I would be thinking the way I thought or doing the things that I was doing.
Not to mention, we all know that life is both eventual and inevitable. But at the same time, we never assume that life will end or that the people we love will die, pass-away, or disappear.
Life comes with eye-opening chapters . . .
And this was one of mine.
I suppose we knew that “something” was about to happen. Maybe we knew that the inevitable was about to come, and at the same time, no one is ever ready for the phone call or the knock at the door. No one is ever ready when real life happens.
I used to live far away from my childhood home. I was in a small upstate town which I had never heard about—at least not until I was there and living in a town called Hancock, New York.
Man, this place was different.
I don’t think I have seen snowfalls like I used to either. At least, not like the snowfalls I used to see when I lived in Hancock.
Then again, I don’t mind the winter months. I don’t mind when the sun is bright but the warmth is absent, and the wintertime tips our half of the world a bit further from the sun.
I don’t mind this either.
I knew that something was about to happen. Deep down, somehow, I knew that My Father, or The Old Man, was about to pass.
At the same time, the impact was so raw and so heavy and I was in a state of numbness or shock.
I couldn’t believe this was where I was.
More importantly –
I couldn’t believe what he said to me.
I’m proud of you son. . . .
He told me whatever you’re doing. Keep doing it.
Don’t stop.
I knew what he meant.
I was able to open my eyes.
I was clean from the substances that nearly killed me. I was out of trouble. My skin was clear, and my coloring returned.
I had put on weight. I looked healthy.
I was able to open my mouth when I spoke and my speech improved, or should I say, I no longer sounded like someone who was half-baked or fresh from a nod.
He was never mad at me, at least not really.
He was frustrated. He was angry that he couldn’t fix the problems or shake the demons out of me.
No one wants it to be “their” kid.
No one asks to have this happen to them.
I never thought that I would be where I was or that I would become what I became.
Yet—this was me. Better yet, this was a small or incidental piece of my history.
I do not dismiss the ability it takes to live drug or alcohol free.
I do not minimize my choice to do as my Father told me and that I stayed the way I was, because on the last night when The Old Man said goodbye, I wanted to live as he saw me last.
I used to think this meant everything.
And it’s not that this doesn’t mean anything . . .
But more, I have allowed my chapters to add and my past is only part of my history.
I do not say this is not important. However, perhaps this sounds as if I am minimizing something but no. This is just how I live.
I wanted to live a life that my Old Man would be able to look down from wherever it is The Old Man is and when he would look to see me, I just want him to be proud.
You know?
I want him to be able to point at me and brag to whomever is around him and he would smile and say, “That’s my son.”
It has been decades now – 1989 was a long, long time ago
I can hardly remember the sound of his voice and, at the same time, I can hear him now, exactly as he sounded when he was here and alive.
I think I understand more now.
I think I know why you always used to tell me, “You’ll understand when you’re older.”
I never realized that demons do not discriminate.
I never realized that we all have them—demons, I mean.
The Old Man had his too.
I understand why he was frustrated.
It wasn’t me. This was a reflection of him.
His frustration was a projection of my Father and his own struggles — and me, or my patterns and my problems were a reminder of him and his problems.
It took me a long time to learn this.
Then again, growth takes time. The good thing to know is that we never stop growing.
It takes growth for me to speak the truth.
It takes growth to acknowledge the imperfections of someone we loved, who passed away, because it takes growth to realize that it’s okay to be honest about someone or something that took place in your past. As you do, it takes growth to realize that being honest about a person has nothing to do with love or the loyalty of someone’s memory.
I remember that feeling I had when I was standing in a field on the farm and looking up at the sky. I was scared. Yes, of course, I was.
There are times when life takes on the picture of something so beautiful and so pure.
Here it was, I was hurting. I was sad. I was away in a treatment facility.
My life just changed.
My Father passed away and somehow, the beauty of the world was still there.
I couldn’t believe it.
How could the world still be so beautiful?
The sky was still perfect.
The winds were cold but nice.
The sun was perfect too, and the snow was so bright that it was nearly blinding.
I can close my eyes and still see this exactly as it was.
I know the world is a beautiful place.
I know that we are hit with losses and sadness and hurt and pain.
But if we take the time, and we don’t have to look to far—but if we look around, I swear and I promise you—there will always be something beautiful to look at. Always.
So help me, God.
Nothing can ever be so cruel or so ugly that the beauty of life or the beauty of sunlight cannot pierce through the darkness, or warm the heart, or thaw the chill from a moment of loss.
I wish I could show you this place in my heart.
It doesn’t look the way it does when I was there—the farm, I mean nor does the hill where I stood.
Maybe nothing looks the same anymore.
And that’s okay too.
Maybe I’ll take a drive the next time the snow falls and the sun comes out the next day. Maybe I’ll drive by the old farm, which isn’t a farm anymore.
Maybe I’ll say hello to the spirits who saved my life.
Or maybe I’ll say thank you for keeping my secrets to the land where I buried my old self.
I think I’ll say hello to an old version of me who never believed that I would be who I am now.
I have never lost so much that I went back to who I was.
I’ve been hurt and accused.
I’ve been persecuted and judged and tried and convicted.
But despite what’s happened, and despite opinions or beliefs about me, I can tell you one thing:
Dear Pop . . .
I did like you said.
I stayed the way I was when you saw me last.
I’ll be heading out to a long trip out in the ocean.
I’m not asking for much.
But a sign would be nice.
Just let me know.
(You know?)
It’d be nice to know that you’re up there, somewhere, and pointing down at me while saying, “Do you see him . . . That’s my son!”
I just need to know it, Pop.
I need to feel it.
And to you, or to whomever is reading this, I will offer you this note as a means to remind you that the things we leave unsaid are often the things we regard at a later time, and then we say to ourselves, “I wish I told them how I felt.”
Or better, “I wish I never let you go.”
I will never leave anything unsaid again.
I will never live a double-life, or live a lie, or be two people in one body.
I will never leave without you knowing that I love you—more than anything, so please, don’t forget this.
No matter where you are or where you go . . .
I will never be far from you because my heart is yours.
Not even the demons can take me away.
I promise.
The Written Addiction 