GONE TOO SOON
Today was a rare day having very little to do. No work, no running, just a relaxing day spent with my mom and dad. We decided since it was a gorgeous North Carolina day, we would take advantage of it and explore the beautiful city we get to call home, Charlotte. After strolling through uptown Charlotte (we call it uptown here instead of downtown), we ended up at the cemetery where my father’s father is buried. My father hasn’t been to his grave in probably 20 years. Memories of his childhood aren’t the best. They are mixed with addiction, violence, heartache, and sadness. As he approaches his grave, he slowly leans down and cleans off the picture that has been attached to my grandfather’s head stone since 1966. The resemblance is striking. It was as if I was looking at my father from 20 years ago. As we sit, letting everyone have their moment at the grave site, I can’t help but think of the tragedy that my father and his family went through all those years ago.
My grandfather was an alcoholic. He had struggled with the disease for most of his life. My grandfather and his siblings grew up in an orphanage, knowing heartache from an early age. While my grandfather’s childhood details are not readily available, I can only imagine that it wasn’t your typical ‘American dream’ childhood. Him and my grandmother met young and started a family quickly. Cheryl came first, followed by Diane, then Doug, and lastly my father, Jim. Their marriage was imperfect from the beginning, surrounded with violence, abuse, addiction, and poverty. Thankfully, there was one stable person in the children’s life, my great grandmother. She did all she could to provide ‘happy times’ for the children but one person can’t fix a whole world of problems.
When my father was 11 years old, my grandfather died in a fire that was created from him passing out with a cigarette in his hand at the age of 38 years old. So young and gone far too soon! I turned 38 years old on September 10, 2015. This birthday hit me harder than most. Not because I am closer to 40, but because my grandfather’s life was ended due to his addiction at the very age I am now. He had his whole life ahead of him, with his wife and four children, but his disease ended all those dreams on that November night in 1966.
I can’t help but think of the 12 years I struggled the most with my addiction. If I hadn’t hit rock bottom that April night in 2010, how my life could have ended in death just as my grandfather’s did. I like to think I am helping break the cycle. I am a small part of teaching the next generation that addiction shouldn’t be surrounded by shame. It is okay to talk about it, tell people that you are an addict, and be proud that you have overcome and made it to the other side in recovery.
Days like today are another reminder of how blessed I am to be in recovery. If you or someone you know needs help, please call Heroes in Recovery at 888-312-4220. Your call is confidential and private. There you will find admission coordinators who can access and review your best treatment options.
