He was more than his addiction: Remembering my father on Father’s Day | Opinion

This Father’s Day, I remember my dad, who I lost to addiction. A loving father of three, an excellent chef, fisher, and lover of the beach, my dad was so much more than his disease.

My father was a handsome, talented man with the world at his fingertips. But as he delved deeper and deeper into drug use, things changed, and both his physical and mental health began to deteriorate.

My father’s addiction was unrelenting. He struggled with the disease my whole life. In fact, my earliest memory is hitting my eye while watching his arrest through the window and having to get stitches because of it. But when it really sunk in that something was wrong — and that our family was different — was when I was in the fourth or fifth grade. I was regularly living away from home, sometimes with my grandparents, and often away from either my father or mother.

Like many family members of those with substance use disorders, I went through a phase where I resented him and wondered why he wouldn’t just stop using if he really loved me. To my father’s credit, though, he was unusually open with me from a relatively young age about his battle with addiction.

His openness and frank answers to my questions about his disease helped me to understand that he didn’t use drugs because he didn’t love me or because he didn’t care. It made me understand that he was living with a condition that he was unable to control. His honesty helped me learn to separate who he was as a person and the things he did in his addiction. And he always made me feel loved.

My father was keenly aware of the grip that his disease held on him. He knew there was a possibility he would die from his addiction. When I was young, he was hit by a car while on cocaine. He suffered a traumatic brain injury, but he lived.

He was lucky to survive that accident, but the way he spoke to me told me he knew his luck would eventually run out. He would tell me how he hoped he’d get to see me get married and have children someday. He wanted to live, but he knew all too well the effects of the drugs that he couldn’t stop using.

I always held out hope that something in him would switch and he’d truly desire recovery, but his disease was too powerful. It never wanted him to want it. He’d go to rehab and say all the right things, but he didn’t put in the effort. My father passed away at just 49 years old.

My hope for other fathers who share the same struggles as my dad is that you can someday see that treatment is a gift. If you don’t yet feel like you want recovery, consider what’s at stake. You can and will eventually end up in jail, or in a grave, leaving your children behind to bury you.

You may think that no one will care, or that your family will be better off without you. But know this: addiction is an insidious liar. It will convince you that your life is unsalvageable, that you can never repair what was damaged, and that the ones you love won’t suffer when you’re gone.

None of this is true. I’m proof of that. My father was flawed in so many ways, but I never stopped loving him. And the fact that he made many mistakes doesn’t make his absence any less painful.

To those children whose parents are living with addiction, I’d tell you not to keep their secrets. Reach out to someone you trust. Talk about it. Go to support groups or therapy. Your parent’s addiction is not a reflection of who you are. Try not to fear judgment, and don’t let stigma and shame keep you from getting the support you need.

The pain of losing my dad will never go away, but I’m taking that pain and trying to turn it into something beautiful. I share my story in the hopes that it can help others going through similar situations and maybe convince someone else’s father (or mother, or brother, or sister) to get help.

Today, I work for an addiction treatment company, American Addiction Centers, where I devote myself to the recovery of those who have been impacted by addiction. I knew from sixth grade that I wanted to eventually work with people like my father whose lives have been impacted by addiction. And today, I’m doing just that.

I want to do my part not only to help those who struggle but to remove the stigma around addiction. This disease doesn’t discriminate. It can happen to anyone, and it doesn’t mean that you’re a bad person if it happens to you. I always say my dad was a good person with a bad problem. This Father’s Day, if you’re also dealing with a substance use disorder, try to give yourself the same grace. You are not your addiction, and you deserve recovery.

Leesa Smith is a salesforce engineer at American Addiction Centers. She lives in Deerfield Beach.