Really deep down inside I know Alcholism is a disease, but with my Father (whom I called Dave, even the day he passed away) I had so much anger with him and it was hard to release. My mother left him when I was 2 or 3 because he left me sitting in the snow outside, he left to go to the bar. My mother came home from picking my 2 older sisters up from a school function to find me locked out of the house, sitting in the snow cring because the only thing I had on was a diaper and I was cold. Mom still left the door open for me to visit with him because he was my father. She never talked ill of him in front of me, which I still respect till this day. She remarried my "Daddy" when I was 6. I have always called him Daddy because he raised me and loved me like I was his own. Dave always forgot to come visit me I did not see him alot. When I was 7 or so, he came over and told mom that he had gone through rehab so she let me go with him, he took me directly to a bar, handed me a roll of quarters and went up to the bar. I played all my quarters out in the arcade, so when I went to find him, he was passed out drunk at the bar. I had a dime in my shoe to call momma in an emergency, which I did. I had no clue where I was or what the name of the place was. Mom never let me leave the house with him again. He would come visit and I would get my birthday gifts about 3-4 months late, but at least he remembered my birthday. When I was 10, he dropped off the face of the earth until I was 12. When I was 12 Mom got his permission for me to move from Michigan to Tennessee. I never saw him again until I was 15. That summer he came down here and we had so much fun. He was sober and acted like a Dad. We went bowling and done alot of great things, he even let me bring one of my friends with us. After 2 weeks he left. We talked for about 3 months on the phone. I was so happy! His phone got cut off and I could not talk to him anymore (even though I thought we were making progress). When we went up that Christmas, I bought him a Christmas gift a really special one that I saved up mostly all of my allowance to have made especially for him. Mom found him somewhere and made plans for him and I to have lunch. My sister took me to go meet him and he was with some strange man (to whom I still question what he was all about) He told me to F**K off and that he never wanted to see me again, and he was highly intoxicated. That hurt worse than any kind of abuse in the book to me. I never heard from him again until I was 24. For all the 9 years I never heard from him and I couldn't find him. I dealt with alot of anger, I even drank myself to see why he loved it more than me. By the time I was 23, I had forgiven him and decided that he was probably dead in a ditch somewhere with a whiskey bottle. He called me when I was 24, I was so shocked. He wanted to come up to see his granddaughter that summer. He didn't make it, He died May 29, 2002 of Cardiac Arrest, he was drunk when he died and he was only 54 years old at the time. I never did get to ask him why he treated me the way he did or why the alchol was more important. Maybe it is better off that I never got to ask him.
I know this is long and drawn out, but there is several items I did leave out because it is too painful to talk about still. It is really hard to pour my heart out like this, but this is something somebody else might learn from. I still remember sitting by the window in the front room as a little girl waiting for him all dressed up. I cried alot back then from it. I just wished that he would have loved me like he was supposed to have.