Today would have been my father's 64th birthday if he had lived long enough to see it.
People ask me sadly, "oh, was it cancer?".
No. My father died of alcoholism. Decades of high-functioning, intellectual, job-holding, international traveling alcoholism. He was sober for 10 years, marking it just before he started drinking again. It was during his sobriety that we grew as father and daughter. When his divorce and forced retirement turned him back to alcohol, he came from Europe to stay with me. But he returned home after 3 months. In and out of hospitals. Eventually it caught up with him. Rapidly all his organs failed. Then he died 2 months after his 62nd birthday. From a disease, for sure...but still I don't get much sympathy for my alcoholic father. I think most people don't see it as something you could actually die from, unless you're homeless and freeze to death or drive and kill yourself or others. He killed himself. Slowly over 40 years.
I've been flailing for days. Trying to nourish my family and myself. I can't sleep. I'm short tempered. I ate a box of cookies - an old binge eating habit I haven't done 4+ years. I felt like and still feel like crap from it.
I know tomorrow is a new day. I planned out our menus and activities. I hugged my kids tightly. I made a promise to forgive myself and move on.