In Memory of My Dad: A hero – with a life chalked full of accomplishments – was most proud of his sobriety.
*Editors’ Note: This week’s blog is written by someone whom ARS has been privileged to serve alongside. She has faithfully served Nest Mission, an exceptional community agency that’s provided food and care for Snohomish County’s unsheltered for many years. ARS has been blessed by our partnership with Nest. Our introduction and relationship with the author of this post is one of those blessings.
My dad was previously homeless and took pride in being sober from 18 years old. The day he decided on sobriety was the day he was puking out of his ‘68 Camaro while driving. He was 18 years old.
I still have that Camaro in my garage now restored.
19 years ago today, my dad passed. I remember it like it was yesterday. The phrase, “Time heals all wounds,” is simply not true. The hole in my heart that my father could only fill remains vacant. But it helps to remember.
He came from alcoholic parents. Through childhood and his teenage years, he experienced extreme poverty and homelessness. He remained faithfully married to my mother for 37 years while she struggled with alcohol. Yet, he never strayed. His conviction for his sobriety – and ultimately his family – simply never wavered.
I watched as my dad selflessly sacrificed for me and my family. He always made sure I had the best opportunities. He sent me to the best schools and went without so I could have everything I wanted. He was a storybook version of a dad – deep in compassion and generous in wisdom.
He taught me to be kind to animals and to rebuild an engine.
He taught me how to cook; that if you want something done right you do it yourself; and that as people, we are all the same and to forgive. He taught me to be an entrepreneur. But when I started charging the neighbor kids to play arcade games, he gave the money to a less fortunate family down the street. He knew they needed it – and would appreciate it more.
He taught me that life is short and to show love and give freely. He taught me to look past the outward appearance – as he overcame a wheelchair and polio as a child.
He made sure I knew how to drive a stick in a 78 Dodge before getting me the new BMW I “just had to have.” And you know what? The BMW is gone. But the 78 Dodge remains. Complete with pictures of me and him when I was three years’ old.
Always freely giving with a full heart. To say he was a good man would be an understatement. Every time I cook, or we serve meals, I remember him. I hope he would be proud, but I know his memory lives on through compassion and recovery.
