“Alcohol?”I’ve never seen my dad drink in my entire life.
She nods.“Quite a bit actually.He was the definition of an alcoholic.With that came lies.Lies about where our money was going, lies about how much he was drinking every night.It all came to a head one night when I stumbled on a credit card bill for a card I didn’t know we had.He’d racked up thousands of dollars on things we didn’t need, most of which I’d never seen because he hid it all in the basement, where he knew I never went.We had a blow-up fight about it—easily the worst fight we’ve ever had in our marriage.It took a lot of time before we were able to move past it, but your father quit drinking after that.He was embarrassed about how bad it had gotten, and he didn’t want to risk our marriage because we both knew if anything like that happened again, we might not recover.”
“Why are you telling me all this?”
“Because there are still a lot of questions I don’t have answers to about why your father lied about things he lied about.I can guess, but I never got the courage to ask him about all of them.What I’m trying to get to is that sometimes we don’t know why someone does what they do, whether they’re physically here to ask or not, but we have to choose to move forward.Being stuck in that mental place where resentment festers isn’t healthy for anyone.”
She reaches out for my hand.“You have to decide how you move forward.Are you going to hold this against him forever when there’s nothing either of you can do about it now, or are you going to accept it for what it is and move forward with your life?”
She squeezes my hand.“Let me ask you another question.Do you love him any less knowing what you know?”
“No.”
“Do you believe he loved you?”
Without hesitation, I say, “Yes.”
“Then treasure the memories you had together.Don’t let this overshadow them.”
I think about her words all throughout dinner, even going so far as to watch her and my dad interact with a new perspective.I think about them again on my drive home, and again when I’m in the shower letting the hot water wash away the day.
When I get in bed, I look at his closet where I found the letter and then I lie down facing toward his side of the bed and place my hand on his pillow.
“I chose you for years.I chose a career based on what you wanted to do—and I’m not mad about that.I love what I do.But I chose it because of you.I love you,” I whisper, emotion clogging my throat.“I willalwayslove you, but this time I need to choose me.”