magic in the woods

""She started out as a whisper and as she watched the decline of a father in the throes of addiction, her soft chant became a persistent shout."  

In many ways, this past year and a half was rife with hard things.  I watched my father's rapid decline and subsequent death, feeling somewhat helpless. He was a stubborn man, who insisted on living his life his way, despite what his doctors prescribed. After suffering two previous strokes from continuing to smoke, we knew that at any moment, the other shoe would most likely drop. 

January 2022 to February 2023 was a whirlwind of doctor's appointments, pharmacist visits, healthcare calls and conversations, and becoming Dad's full-time caretaker. In January, Dad had a wreck and was without a vehicle amid part shortages and supply chain disruptions for several months. The wreck should have been the first sign there was trouble. It was a single-car incident. He missed his turn and never corrected as he plowed headfirst into some trees. He didn't have his cell phone with him and left the scene before help arrived, walking a mile or so in record freezing temperatures without a coat, until some well doer passerby picked him up. 

In April 2022, Dad had a heart attack and I came face to face with the reality that my father was in a rapid state of decline. Nothing prepares you for when you witness your once strong and vibrant, marathon running father in such a state.

He moved in with me after he came home from the hospital. He bought a camper with plans of selling his home already underway, but it wasn’t quite ready for him to move into yet. 

He quit smoking for three whole weeks and I’d never seen him so alive. His taste came back. He’d been eating ground hamburger almost every meal and now he was eating fish and vegetables, his eyes lighting up with every flavorful bite. It was like watching someone awake after decades of sleep, because he had been in a prison of his own making with his addiction. 

In May 2022, he was excelling. The color had come back to his face. His diabetes was under control. He even walked the half mile from my home to our mailbox. He started to care again. He wanted to live. He moved into the camper in June and two days later, he went right back to old habits and his health plummeted, the moment the nicotine came back into his life. In July, he sold his house. In August, he went to assisted living because he nearly burned the camper down. He did really well with someone caring for him, so well in fact, that they requested he move out of assisted living because in their opinion, he no longer needed those services.

It was clearly a pattern by that time, but there was nothing I could do, but be there for him when he asked me to and watch when he said back off. In September, he bought a new house and moved into it. I helped when he let me. I made his pharmacy runs and packed his pills for the week ahead. I cleaned his home and brought him home cooked meals biweekly. I, along with my sisters, took him to doctor appointments so that we would be made privy to those doctor-patient conversations and could care for him properly. 

At his check-ups in January 2023, it was apparent that old patterns and habits had returned. He lied to me and his doctor about the last time he checked his blood sugar. When I checked his meter, it said the last he ran it was in September. I confronted him about it and he said it was the meter acting up. His fasting blood sugar was over 300 that day. He threw up when they gave him fluid and his blood pressure was astronomical. Many referrals were made, to which my dad angrily replied, "I'm about done with doctors."

I really thought that we had bought him more time, but I was hopelessly locked in survival mode from one day to the next. It really took a toll on me. When I begged him to stop, he'd say, "Don't take my joy away, Jess." I'll never forget that. Addiction did that to us. His addiction was the root of it all and took him from us at the age of 65. His addiction cut him down in what could have been his golden years spent with his family. It stole his retirement party, the one he always thought he'd have when the job he had dedicated his whole life to, gave him some gift and congratulatory applause for a job well done, but he was forced into retirement due to his second stroke. Addiction ravaged us. It split my parents up. It reared its head in my own life and I kept letting it consume the good parts of me. Alcohol was my drug of choice and addiction made it easier to drown my demons, my pain and sorrow. Addiction, his addiction, my own, it did what it did, giving us false comfort in our crumbling realities. 

Dad died on a Sunday mid-February, 2023. 

He had three good weeks after his last hospital stay. He stopped smoking during and had cut back afterwards, but addiction won out. The Wednesday before, I cleaned his house and the ashtray was empty. When I entered the ominously quiet house on the following Monday, the ashtray was full and butts had fallen out onto the table. He'd had a bender and it was just too much all at once for his fragile heart to take. 

Where's the magic in this, you ask? It all seems so tragic...

I'll tell you. The magic began in October 2022. She was on the sidelines of this epic tragedy. She started out small, wedged between what feels good and what feels right. She started out as a whisper and as she watched the decline of a father in the throes of addiction, her soft chant became a persistent shout. Sobriety was her name.

And I've been sober 9 months and counting. The ugly bits of my father's addiction inspired this beautiful awakening that I now find myself in and I'm grateful. My joy isn't found in drugs. It's found in simple moments of wonder with my children. In new friendships. In a laugh during a phone call with my sisters. In realizing I'm more than capable of writing for a living with the sale of my first murder mystery script!  In a single french toast stick drenched in syrup. In an overcast sky or a walk by the creek behind our home. In cooking a nourishing meal and savoring every bite. In sweating it out and enjoying a lemonade in my family's pool. My joy is found in moments with those I love. It's magic I found within.