It's Been 10 Years And I'm Still Mad at My Father
And somehow, I never told him how hurt I was, or that I was angry. I’m a little surprised that I still am ten years later.
Loving someone who you know is hurting themselves is one of the most difficult things to endure. Watching by silently as years of self-abuse takes its toll is gut wrenching. And when I’m angry I think of all the things I’d like to say or change or do differently, but I know that the time I had with my dad was an incredible gift. Even a second you shared with him would make you smile.
So it’s taken ten years, but I’m finally letting my anger, my resentment, my bitterness go. I no longer want to think if only my dad had stopped smoking, he would still be here with us today, because I am starting to understand that I was given more than I realized, more than maybe I even deserved. And his death, like his life, made me who I am today.
Yes, I finally understand that my dad did not do this to me, my mom or anyone else. He unfortunately did this to himself.
And in letting go, I choose to remember his greatness, and promise to learn from his mistakes. I want to continue sharing his memory with my kids and teach them how to love life as he did. I want to remember all the good — the kindness, the humor the generosity — because that far outweighed what we endured. And I want to encourage and empower other people to quit smoking — if not for their families, than certainly for themselves.
Because it’s been ten years since the most amazing man I’ve ever known has been gone. And I’m still missing him.