The story of my Daddy’s death, for me, started a few years before he actually passed away. In December of 2007, the week before my college graduation, my daddy proved once again that he could not stay sober. I called and informed him that he was no longer invited to come to New Mexico to my graduation and if he decided to do so, I would call the police. This was my day that I had worked very hard for and I was not going to let him take that away from me. I know this sounds hard hearted. Please make no mistake- it was tough love, but it also broke my heart. I knew how proud he had been of me. Attending and graduating college was such a big deal to him. He had never achieved this himself and was so happy that his daughters had. Knowing this and making this phone call was one of the hardest decisions I have ever made. I didn’t know when I would talk to him again, much less see him again.
For the next six months it was a barrage of drunken phone calls at all different times of the day and night. Calling my sister and I (and our mothers) horrific names and accusing us of horrid things. I finally got tired of this and told him to leave me alone and not call until he was sober enough to have a real conversation. After this angry conversation, I didn’t hear from him very often and when he called, I never called him back. The messages were fewer but still just as hurtful. One thing anyone needs to know while reading this is that my daddy was a kind, smart and generous man who loved to laugh-when he was sober. He truly had a heart of gold that would become masked with whiskey.
I found out in the fall of 2008 that I was expecting my first child. Shortly thereafter, we moved, my mom in tow, to Albuquerque. I never told my dad I was expecting. I knew in my heart of hearts my baby could not see his grandfather unless he was sober and we rebuilt the trust that had fallen away. My mother told my dad I was having a boy. He still never contacted me, but told my mom that he was so happy for my husband and I and he hoped that one day he would still be able to see my son. Although my parents had been divorced since 1992, they still spoke every day. I truly believe that if he had gotten himself together that they would still be married. They loved each other very much and until the very end my mom kept in constant contact with him.
I had my son the following July. When I was wheeled to my hospital room holding my sweet baby, just a few hours old, I noticed a large bouquet of beautiful pink roses. They were from Daddy. This meant more to me than he could ever have known. Even though I was angry at him, I still missed him terribly and those roses gave me hope. Hope that maybe he was turning things around. Unfortunately, that was not the case. He continued to drink, and I continued refuse to speak to him. I also continued to pray for him.
Fast forward to October of 2010; my sister called one afternoon. She told me that my dad had left horrid messages not only on her phone but also on her mother’s and mine. This made me furious. I decided after 2 years to call him. As I called, I waited for his voicemail. Very rarely did he answer when he was drinking. I was geared up to leave quite a message myself, when he answered. And he was SOBER. We talked for 2 ½ hours. He apologized for everything that had happened and for the first time in my life (and possibly his), he took complete responsibility for his actions. In the past, even when he was in a sober stretch, he always blamed someone else for something. Not this time. I cried with him and he once again told me how much he wanted to be sober. He wanted to move back to New Mexico and he desperately wanted to see the grandson he had never met. He brokenheartedly asked if he could see him. He could barely get the question out- his voice was so broken. He asked me endless questions about my son and said over and over how proud he was of both my sister and me. I agreed that he could see him one day but it would be on my terms and he would have to be sober. Not just for that day, but for a period of time, and he would need to remain sober. I explained to him that I couldn’t let my child go through what I had grown up with. He said he completely understood and that I had every right to protect my child and that he wanted to be sober and this was his motivation. He asked if he could call often and I answered with the same condition. ONLY if he was sober. He agreed and said he would speak to me soon. He also told me how he loved my sister and me more than anything else in this world. I told him I loved him too, missed him and would be expecting a phone call from him soon.
That was the last time I ever spoke to my daddy. I would not trade that conversation for anything in the world. I thank God often for the anger that made me call him. That conversation was a precious gift. I just didn’t realize how precious it would become to me.