The Caring Counselor

I am having a hard time picking a place to start with writing this post. Over the last week, I reflected on what I want to say, but it gets jumbled up every time. I am more in amazement that it has been five years. It sure as hell doesn’t feel like it.

Driving to my next client’s house and getting that phone call. Hearing your wife frantically crying and then a strange man take over on the call. He introduced himself as an EMT and muttered, “Your dad passed away.” My heart sank, and my brain buffered. I pulled over because I knew what was coming next. I hung up the phone and cried hysterically. Calling mom to tell her what happened.

I sensed that you weren’t doing well. Whenever I saw you in the months prior, you looked sick. You lost weight. You appeared jaundice, and your face sunken in. I told people close to me that you weren’t going to last more than another six months. It was one fucking time I wish I was wrong. Unfortunately, I was right. You fell victim to the bottle. Five decades caught up to you.

On the contrary, I haven’t let that decision overshadow the fact you were a great father to me. You always put me first no matter what shape you were in. You always made sure that I had what I needed and always called me “your best friend.” And to this day, everyone still reminisces over your cooking, your humor, and your overwhelming kindness. Whenever you come up in conversation, that’s all I ever hear. No one mentions your demons.

That’s what I try to focus on. I look back on what made you a great man and replicate those. I’d say that you had big shoes to fill, but you were only a size 9. I got you beat there by two sizes.

I know you’d be proud of me. A lot has happened in five years. I moved to another state, and weirdly close to where you grew up. I finally found an amazing woman, which you always said I needed. She came with two awesome kids that I can be a father figure to. I even started my business finally, which I know you’d back me 100%.

I don’t have a lot more to say except thank you. I know you are up there somewhere. I still talk to you sometimes, and I do hope you can hear me. We miss you down here, you crazy son of a bitch. I love you, Dad. Rest easy.

-The Caring Counselor