The reality of a homeless parent

Just when I thought my experiences with this new version of my father could not get worse, they would...

Yes, this was his reality.

"The disease of alcoholism... it wreaks havoc and leaves behind wreckage vast and wide. It extends its fingers through time and lives like the many tributaries of a river….."

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We see them every day, the desperate souls who occupy street corners seeking a handout whether for the next fix to satisfy an addiction or to simply survive. What if, each time you noticed one of these sad souls walking down the street, you had to brace yourself as you take a second look to see if it’s the man you once knew, the man you once loved, the man who once loved you, adored you, spoiled you, the man who once had everything? What if you feared to recognize him as your DAD? In this world of social media, glimpses of our lives, our interests, our personalities are on display for all to see. But, if we are honest, we typically only share the beautiful, happy glimpses. As such, the world begins to form a perception about us as individuals based on appearance, relationships and all those fabulous places we share in our selfies. In fact, it may appear that life is perfect, maybe even charmed. But what you don’t see is the devastation and years of heartache and disfunction a father’s alcohol addiction has caused. Disguised by my smile, deep inside my blue eyes, exists: pain, disappointment and insecurities brought on by the man who, for my entire childhood, seemed to adore me more than anything.

The disease of alcoholism, wreaks havoc and leaves behind wreckage vast and wide. It extends its fingers through time and lives like the many tributaries of a river. After my dad was released from jail, I had resumed a sense of normalcy and acceptance. Things were relatively calm and my father kept his distance and only called once in a great while. Then, one day, I got a call from my younger brother that he had seen our dad. He proceeded to describe the situation…. It had seemed, up until now, my experiences with this version of my father could not get worse, but they would. The next time I would see my father, it would be a nightmare come true. A vision so surreal, I felt like I was having an out-of-body experience. It was October 2018. That October we had severely cold weather. Although my father had found shelter and was "off the streets", his shelter was far from anything that would keep him alive. He had found himself an abandoned trailer home that seemed to have been occupied by other homeless at various times. No electricity, no plumbing, no furniture, no food. As soon as my brother describe the situation, I knew I couldn't just sit back and do nothing despite the potential flood gate of trauma I might be opening. I set out to get him any supplies I could, knowing there was a good chance they would be stolen, sold or left behind. I didn't care. I had to listen to my heart.

The first time my fiancé would meet my father... It was a cold, cloudy day when, my now fiancé, John and I arrived at this boarded up trailer with a car full of supplies. He entered first to make sure things were safe and that my father was inside. Sure enough, there he was. Lying on a cold, dirty floor, curled up in child's blanket no warmer than a sheet. His only coat was a windbreaker. He opened his eyes and sat up to greet us. He was the poster child for a homeless man; gray, fuzzy hair; full, grey beard, wrinkled, shaking..... I hugged him and began to cry. I kept looking at him, asking myself how is this MY DAD? We let him know that we brought a giant tote full of supplies including; warm clothes, a folding chair and lanterns. He sat in the chair and immediately asked for chocolate milk. This was no surprise. My dad loves chocolate milk and I came prepared with a pack of chocolate Ovaltine. He chugged two bottles in no time at all. John immediately unrolled the sleeping bag we brought as I pulled out warm clothes, a coat, and stocking hat (he would never normally be seen in such a thing), but he was cold and was happy to have it. We chatted while he finished his milk, but he soon wanted to lie down in his new, warm sleeping bag. John helped zip him in as I clung to my dad crying and telling him I loved him. He kindly said, "You guys go on, I'll be fine. I love you." How do you move on from a moment like that? I would try, but soon I would have to make yet another heart wrenching decision that no child should ever have to make.....

#alcoholic, #homeless, #incarcerated, #alcoholism, #addiction