Journal Entry – Part 2

Vulnerable doesn’t look good on me; it never has. I write to make sense of my emotions. I write to heal. While my words come from a place of love, sometimes they’re coupled with frustration, fear, pain. The process isn’t always pretty. I am tired of this weight I carry. But there’s never any rest for the weary, is there? So, I resume my place as the memory keeper—the strong, silent observer who picks up the pieces, fastens them back as well as I can, and holds it all together.

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Journal Entry

When you grow up in a family of multiple addicts with multiple addictions, you spend your entire life waiting for the call. Because you know it will come; it always comes. It is heart wrenching to watch someone you love self-destruct before your eyes. No matter how much you love them or support them or help them, you can’t change them. You can’t make the choice for them. And until they hit rock bottom, they will continue to take the bottle or the hit or the pills over their family, over their children, over themselves. And you constantly grapple with helping in fear that you are in fact enabling, when all you want is for them to heal their demons instead of succumb to them. So, you love them in the best ways that you can and pray they will find their way out of the abyss. Because each time the call comes, you die a little inside and hope it turns out to be a wake-up call instead.

Father’s Day

This is my grandfather with his firstborn circa 1947. He graduated from medical school in 1954 after serving as a Navy medic in WWII. My grandfather was the only father I ever knew, and his presence far surpassed my father’s absence. He loved me without exception and pushed me to exceed my potential. He was absolutely the most influential person in my life. He passed suddenly when I was 21, and I don’t think I will ever get over losing him. He was my rock and my greatest cheerleader. I keep a box of treasured mementos at the top of my closet—his tennis shoes, his stethoscope, his favorite classical CD’s, and a letter I wrote to him on his last Father’s Day on Earth. It was found well-worn in the pocket of his lab coat. I believe there is a blessing that emerges from every tragedy. He was mine. ❤️