My father would have been 83 years old today if he were alive. 83 – not really an old number. I know many people who are well into their 80’s – living – not existing. My father didn’t make it. He died when he was 71 – too young, too unfulfilled, his body and mind spent.
My father really died three times. Once when his business failed, he gave up on the journey of his life. Once when alcohol became more and more an integral part of his existence and finally when tobacco actually killed him.
He would have been 83 today if not for so many things.
The last business my father ran and owned was a great success for a reasonable period. It was established, growing until he actually took his eye off the ball. Perhaps it was the influence of the alcohol in his life; maybe he was bored with the work. I don’t really know, other than that period of his life was brutal for him and his family. He never recovered from the loss of his business and his identity. A part of him was gone. He wandered the last ten years of his life without purpose, without his customary drive, without his passion. As his alcohol consumption increased, so did the depth of his misery, he became more and more disconnected.
"It’s 5 o’clock somewhere" – his voice still echoes in my mind – it’s ok to drink. He wasn’t a mean drunk, until he was. I don’t remember him as being a sloppy alcoholic; he was able to fool a lot of people. He just drank and needed to drink. It affected him, clouded his judgment. Eased the pains of his life.
Through it all he smoked. He started in his early teens and never stopped. Two packs or more a day, most nights having to get up at 3 or so in the morning to have a smoke. Sitting at the side of his bed, long drags and than back to bed until he needed the next smoke.
I don’t think I was surprised when he told me he had been diagnosed with emphysema, early stages. I noticed he wasn’t able to go on walks with us, to exert himself. As the years went by the disease took hold. Slowly at first, but change happened.
He still smoked, switching eventually to small cigars or cancer sticks as he called them. He worked in a smoky bar, breathing in the filthy air – coughing through the hours, drained with the lack of oxygen.
At the end, he gave up smoking. his lungs made it impossible for him to smoke. I once asked him if he knew what he knew now would he of given up smoking a long time ago. Nope – he was incredibly stubborn.
Dying from emphysema is a terrible way to go. Your energy is gone; you panic over the lack of oxygen, air into your lungs. Many times I would have to provide liquid morphine for him to suck in to ease the panic he had. I will never forget what he went through.
It didn’t have to be. He could of died from something else, much later in his life. He missed so much, his family missed out without having him with us.
And why all of this you may ask? My father has had such an incredible effect on me – I not only learn from his successes but also from failures or faults. 27 years ago I quit drinking – didn’t like what I saw, didn’t like who I was turning into – didn’t choose to have that journey. I really can’t remember my drinking experiences – but I know I drank in excess and I knew and know I am vulnerable to alcohol. Today, many times I am asked by people to help them with their drinking issues and I am happy to do so. It is strange hold alcohol or drugs have on people, and the excuses made to consume. I have seen people destroyed because they are not willing to take a stand for themselves and their families. It is never too late to make a difference by quitting alcohol and or drugs. When is it a problem? When it begins to get in the way. If you drink or use drugs because of peer pressure you are a fool – get better friends.
I think quitting smoking was harder for me – with alcohol once I quit, I quit. With tobacco it has been off and on for so many years. I would kid myself that I wasn’t really smoking unless I was dragging on a cigarette. Cigars were ok, big ones, small ones. I would suck in the smoke deep into my lungs – dreadful stuff. Finally I quit smoking everything, cigarettes, and cigars – for good. The influence of seeing my dad die in front of me, the pain of his last years. It didn’t have to end that way.
And finally, whatever success I have had with my work has the influence of my father stamped on it. Watching him deal with business impacted me. I learned what not to do, and I took the great things he did as my own.
I miss my Dad for so many reasons. I would love to talk with him, to joke, laugh, provide for him if needed. I miss listening to him. His voice. I am thankful for all I learned from him, his influence, good and bad. He tried his best with what he had.
Happy birthday Dad
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