Around 2 am on the night of Thanksgiving, I found out my dad had gotten intoxicated and had taken his own life.
My dad was strong, kind, genuine, and loving. I could always share exactly what was on my mind, and he would never judge; he listened to me. He always had a smile on his face and had the best laugh in the world. We were so goofy together and always enjoyed spending time together; it didn’t matter what we were doing. He was loved by his family and many friends and colleagues who felt lucky to know him.
I’m sharing this story because my dad took his own life in the early morning after a wonderful family Thanksgiving gathering. He had been dealing with depression and alcoholism for a couple of years. You would never know if you met him, and even those close to him never knew how much he was struggling. At one point, he opened up to me that he was trying to quit drinking. I remember we had such a positive conversation, and he said how much better he felt without alcohol, mentally and physically. We talked about nonalcoholic alternatives and being more active. A couple of months later, he was drinking again. I found out after he had passed that he was also on antidepressants. I graduated from college that year and was living away from home, so I never knew what he was going through day to day.
When my papa told me my dad was gone, I went into complete shock. I couldn’t believe it was true. I had a visceral reaction. My heart felt like it had broken in half. I just sat and cried with my dad’s family all day. I went outside to get some air, and I remember collapsing onto the gravel driveway, struggling for breath. I just wanted to wake up from this nightmare. I knew my dad, and I knew he would never do this to me. It’s been over a year, and I still can’t think about that night. I can’t wrap my head around it. I lie awake at night, or even flashback during the day, and can’t understand how something like this could happen. It still seems unbelievable to me.
That day, I remember so vividly, and the weeks and months after feel like a haze. I was never hungry, my head pounded, I couldn’t focus, and I felt fatigued all the time. On top of the heartache I feel for missing my dad, I have a lot of feelings of guilt. Why didn’t I know? I should have done more, I should have checked up on him more, etc. These regrets feel so strong, and I wonder if I could have changed the outcome.
I honestly don’t remember much after the initial shock. I went back to work a couple of weeks later and threw myself into distraction. I worked, exercised, completed a health coaching certification, and did whatever I could to avoid being alone with my thoughts. It all felt so heavy in a way that affected my physical, mental, and emotional well-being. After a few months, everything I had been trying to bury deep down caught up to me, and I realized it wasn’t healthy.
I experience so many different emotions even within a couple of minutes. I know my dad loved me and was so proud of me. But it’s unfair, and I find myself feeling jealous of daughters who still have their fathers. I would never say that out loud, but I am angry that I don’t get to have a future with my dad. I’m angry that my dad can’t be a grandpa to my children someday. I’m angry that my dad, sister, and I will never be able to go skydiving together, go for a hike, or even laugh together. I’m angry he put his family through so much pain. There are a million things I am angry about, but I know keeping this feeling inside doesn’t help me heal. A tattoo I got reads “Love came first,” and it reminds me that I feel so much pain because there was so much love.
I am still working through the trauma of that night, the loss of someone I love, the loss of the life I thought we would have, the anger, and the guilt. I am also working on learning to live with it over time. I carry it all like a heavy, difficult suitcase, figuring out how to manage it. The grief still feels heavy, of course, but not as debilitating or suffocating. It is not necessarily lighter, but I am creating more space to breathe, to let other things in that make me happy. I am trying to create space for compassion for myself, forgiveness, beauty, and living my life. It is what my dad would want.
I have no choice. I want to live for my dad and make him proud. So I know I have to keep living my life as best as I can. During that time I worked as a full-time physical therapy aide in Boston, and my job was to give patients exercises and converse with them. I had to put on a fake smile and try to connect with people all day when all I wanted to do was curl up into a ball and cry. Over time, it got a little easier, and I started to see glimpses of myself again. But I know I will never be that version of me again. When I lost my dad, the Maddie I was and the Maddie I was with him, left with him. I have been resilient since the moment my dad made that tragic mistake. I have been there for others when I was dying on the inside, and I have kept moving forward despite many times that I felt it wasn’t worth it. I chose myself and went on an incredible grief retreat in Australia, where I opened up to complete strangers about my story and my feelings. I want to be strong for my dad and continue to heal myself, little by little.
Although I am still early on in the process of grief, one piece of advice I would give to someone going through a similar challenge would be not to blame yourself. It’s easy to get caught up in overthinking what I should have done. I would give everything and anything to have my dad back, but you can’t change the past. This type of grief is also very unique because you’re left with so many questions that will never be answered. You might feel shock, confusion, sadness, anger, guilt, or even numbness. These feelings will come and go, but it’s important to put yourself first and know that everything you feel is valid. Please open up to people about what’s going on inside your head, and know you are never alone. The world is a better place because you are here. I wish I could tell my dad that.
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