I lost my dad 2 years ago on April 4, 2014 when I was 18. I have never had a closer connection to anybody in my entire life. He also had bipolar and substance abuse problems that he had to watch me go through before his death. My parents divorced when I was 12 because of his substance abuse. In 2013 I had moved in with him in another state very different from my own, the first time I'd seen mountains and snow, and I lived with him and my step-mom and her children, it's the last time I remember being very happy. But when things became too difficult to take care of me, and my own oxy addiction got unmanageable, we decided it would be best for me to move back down with my mother.
Exactly two weeks after I moved back down, he passed away unexpectedly. He had a fever and went to the hospital, where he was diagnosed with COPD. I talked to him a few days before he died on the phone, he sounded sick, but nowhere near death. He told me he was proud of me, and we exchanged our last I love yous. His heart gave out the morning he was supposed to have a surgery. I've had my own issues long before his death, but since then it's been super super isolating since he was always the one I would turn to.
I feel like I disappointed him in continuing with my vices, but it felt like I had no choice. I no longer cared for myself and wanted more than anything to be with him. I felt like I wasn't supposed to live long after him. I miss him every day. He wasn't supposed to die.
I still talk to him, I just wish he could talk back. If he's with God, why doesn't he tell God to help me stop suffering? Is he trying? Does he wish he could do more? Sometimes I feel like I'm meant to suffer, because I know he would tell God to help me, but instead He disagrees and leaves me to myself. I will keep trying though. I'm just happy he got to tell me he was proud of me while he was still alive. At least I know that.
I've never written about my dad before, it's always been something I've kept inside. It's already been a long while but I hope it gets easier one day. The pain never stopped.
Exactly two weeks after I moved back down, he passed away unexpectedly. He had a fever and went to the hospital, where he was diagnosed with COPD. I talked to him a few days before he died on the phone, he sounded sick, but nowhere near death. He told me he was proud of me, and we exchanged our last I love yous. His heart gave out the morning he was supposed to have a surgery. I've had my own issues long before his death, but since then it's been super super isolating since he was always the one I would turn to.
I feel like I disappointed him in continuing with my vices, but it felt like I had no choice. I no longer cared for myself and wanted more than anything to be with him. I felt like I wasn't supposed to live long after him. I miss him every day. He wasn't supposed to die.
I still talk to him, I just wish he could talk back. If he's with God, why doesn't he tell God to help me stop suffering? Is he trying? Does he wish he could do more? Sometimes I feel like I'm meant to suffer, because I know he would tell God to help me, but instead He disagrees and leaves me to myself. I will keep trying though. I'm just happy he got to tell me he was proud of me while he was still alive. At least I know that.
I've never written about my dad before, it's always been something I've kept inside. It's already been a long while but I hope it gets easier one day. The pain never stopped.
s* I am sorry. I hope that you'll be able to let out those emotions one day.
