Dad 3/30/22

Addict. Alcoholic. Suicide.

Weak. Cowardly. Selfish. These are all words that as recently as ten years ago I associated with the three words above. But over the years, I’ve learned. I’ve learned so much, and those word, they are none of the things I used to think. Last week, I learned more than I ever hoped to know about all of it, and it changed my world forever.

My dad committed suicide on Monday, March 21, 2022. It’s a day forever etched in my memory. It’s a day that changed the life of our family. I’ll never get to see him again this side of heaven. Man does that hurt my heart.

Today, a buddy of his that I’ve know since I was a kid passed and I reached for the phone to tell my dad. There will be a million other times in my life that I’ll want to tell him something little or big and I won’t get to, and it hurts.

All my life, my dad was what I’d call a functioning alcoholic. He always drank beer. But unlike what many think of as an alcoholic, my dad was a hard worker. In fact, for most of my youth, he worked two plus jobs to make sure we never went without. He was never a fall-down drunk; he just always drank beer. He functioned and he functioned well.

He retired from the Illinois Department of Corrections as a Lieutenant after thirty plus years. He and his wife built their dream home, and he made that place shine. My family spent hours there at his pond swimming, fishing, eating, and making memories.

My dad was my go-to person, for about everything in my life. My kids adored their Papa Tim. They were thick as thieves, and they all loved it. Never in their life or mine did we ever doubt that he loved us. Never.

Over the last several years, my dad began to feel hopeless. The identity that he found in his work for so many years was now gone. He struggled to find exactly what he was living for. He would never tell me that, but looking back now, I can see it. He never wanted to burden me with his problems. What I couldn’t ever get through to him is that it never would have been a burden to me. I just wanted him with us for as long as possible.

Below are the words I said at his funeral:

“He had many names, Tim, Hop, TimHop, Hoppy, Hopwood, Papa, and each meant something special, but my favorite name is Dad.

I look around at the people that loved him most, and we are the same people he loved the most. We’re the people that he laughed with, loved with, and cried with, we are his family, and he was ours. Family doesn’t have to be blood; family is those that invest in you and you in them. Dad did that. Whether it was taking us along in the tractor when we were young, braiding our hair, helping us learn to fix things, teaching me how to can, or simply sitting out at the pond listening to the ballgame while the kids swam, he was invested.

He’s the papa that smiled the most when you talked about his grandkids, and there’s not much he wouldn’t do for them. Whether it was riding four wheelers, sneaking candy bars out of the freezer, telling him he’d cut off whatever ailment they had with his pliers, or just teasing them with a nickname (Peanut or Stinky Butt were favorites), he loved the heck out of those kids and they him.

We liked to tease him too. Whether it was for his flip flops with socks that made him only have two toes, his total dad shoes, or the mullet he swears he didn’t have back in the day. Those are also some of our favorite things about him. I think every time any of us see white New Balance shoes, Old Spice deodorant, Carhart shirts, or Red Man chew, we’ll think of Dad, those were his signature pieces.

He was the first one I’d call when I didn’t know how to fix something or thought I knew how to fix it and got in over my head. He was the first one I’d ask for fingernail clippers at any point in time because he always had them. He was who I’d call when I just needed a hug because I was scared or worried. And he was one of my favorite Mexican lunch dates. He wasn’t perfect, heck none of us are, but he was exactly who I needed.

The one thing that I’ve never doubted, is how much he loved us. Man did he love us, and we loved him. I always tell my girls that you know something was special if it’s hard to let go of; and he is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to let go. But what I know is that he will live on as will his love. He will live on in the ornery little laughs of his grandkids (because it’s the same one as his and my grandpas), in the endless hours spent fishing and swimming in the pond, in gardens grown, in a love for Cardinals baseball, and for each other. He’ll live on because we’ll carry him with us.

If you ask someone about Dad, one of the first words that they’ll say is hardworking. That he was. Dad taught us lots of things in life, how to work hard to get where you want to be is one of them. Each of us has worked hard to get to where we are, and he always made sure to tell us that he was proud of us.

While hard work is important, I think the most important thing that he taught us was love. Looking at his nine beautiful children, that can’t be denied. He loved us and he made sure we knew from the time we pulled into the driveway or he ours. Every single time, the first thing he did was hug us. And every single time we left, he would hug us and say I love you. Even if it was just a text message, it always ended with I love you baby for us girls or I love you buddy for the guys. He never wanted us to doubt his love. Those memories and that love will live on.

Today I guess I get to say the last goodbye, so I love you too Daddy, I love you too.”

It’s a lot, but I share all of this because he was a person that was loved. Every single addict, alcoholic, and suicide victim has people that love them and care about them. It’s easy for society to shrug off because of the struggles that they faced. What society fails to acknowledge though is how hard they fought to not be a victim of any of these things.

Hurt, pain, embarrassment, they are often coping mechanisms that people try to mask with drugs and alcohol. Unfortunately, what they’re using to cope is exactly what buries them deeper into darkness.

My dad grew up in an era when men didn’t cry or talk about their feelings. Seeking help was for the weak. So, he thought he had to take care of it on his own. He resorted to drinking to cope. He was ashamed to ask for help. The few people that he did attempt to reach out to, brushed him off. When a person doesn’t know what they need to overcome their struggles, but makes an effort to reach out, I beg of you, be there. It took more courage than you could ever imagine for them to try at all. My dad was not a coward. A lifetime of watching, admiring, and learning from him guaranteed that.

Mental health has a stigma. Mental health for generations has been looked over. IT HAS TO STOP. Mental health is every bit as important as our physical health. In fact, it’s directly linked to it! It’s time to end the stigma. It’s time that we advocate for mental health and not just sweep it under the rug.

Suicide has a stigma. Suicide is directly linked to mental health. Do you see the pattern? It’s time to stop the cycle. It’s time to come out of the darkness. It’s time that we, as a society, rise and demand mental health benefits be deemed as valuable as physical health benefits.

My dad was strong, and I’ll never see him in any way other than that. Unfortunately, he became hopeless because of his mental health and alcoholism. I refuse to let his death be the end of his story. I refuse to sit back when I know others are suffering. Good will come from our heartbreaking circumstance. If another family never has to endure what my family is because we’ve been brave enough to share my dad’s story, good wins, and his story isn’t over.

There is hope. There are people that care. If you are struggling to find your purpose, if you think nobody cares, find me, I promise to care and show you that your life has purpose. You are not lost, you are human. You are loved and needed. Your current circumstances do not define you. You are more than your worst mistake. You are more.