Letter to my father…

Dear Dad,

I know, deep in my heart, that alcoholism is a disease. I know you didn’t choose this—no more than anyone would choose to suffer from cancer. Still, knowing that doesn’t lessen the pain of watching it pull you further away from us, from me.

I understand you carry a heavy past—a pain that’s been with you for so long, and I know alcohol became your comfort when nothing else could be. But Dad… do you know we’re here for you now? Not just me—we all are. We want to walk beside you through that pain, not watch from the sidelines while you face it alone with a bottle in your hand. But I can’t pretend everything’s okay when you drink three tall cans during a one-hour drive. I can’t stay silent when your safety—and our relationship—is being shattered right before my eyes.

I think I understand why you drink—to numb the wounds that won’t stop aching. But when you turn to alcohol, you shut me out, and that hurts more than you probably know. I want to be there for you, Dad… but I don’t know how to reach you when you disappear behind the drink.

Asking you to stop is like asking the pain in my knee to vanish. But I’m doing what I can—I’m moving, stretching, strengthening the parts of me that hurt. I want to help you find that strength too. I want us to help you find it. You don’t have to carry this burden alone.

I miss you. I love you. Please let that be louder than the silence between us.