Happy 65th Birthday, Dad!

I’ve had this topic on my heart for awhile and I think today is the perfect day for it.

Happy 65th Birthday to my dad, David Schweppe. It’s bittersweet because he passed away on October 1st, 2004.

He was a month shy of turning 51. I was 24. My brother was 19. The thing is, we don’t often talk about the HOW of it.

My mom and dad were high school sweet hearts. They got married young but both went to school. My mom became a nurse. My dad went to Virginia Tech for his Bachelors and then his Masters degree from NC State. They waited to have kids. I was born when they were 26 which wasn’t that common for their generation since they married so young. As often happens, their days of drinking and such ended with my mom’s pregnancy. Or they did for my mom anyway. My dad lost his drinking buddy (as another family member put it).

He was a functional alcoholic I suppose for awhile. He excelled at his career and we moved quite a bit for him to move up in the ranks. Around the time I was 5ish and my brother was an infant my mom reached her breaking point. I remember a night when my dad had too much and was sloppy drunk. I was 5 so I just remember bits and pieces but I believe he fell and ended up needing stitches in his head? I remember blood on the bathroom floor. I’m not sure of the exact timing of it all but my mom decided that was not the best situation to have us in and we left one night and drove to stay with her family out of state.

There was an intervention, they were separated, and eventually divorced. We had moved to mom’s sisters house and later a townhouse near them in WV. Dad was in Arlington, VA and as far as I knew was doing well with sobriety. But that’s not really a topic adults share with young children.

The years went by and both of my parents remarried. We moved to North Carolina with my mom and Tom. We went to visit my dad when school and schedules allowed. I was under the impression that my dad was sober. I saw him have a drink at dinner or during the holidays but I didn’t see him drunk for the better part of 15 years. I thought he was cured. My brother didn’t even know he had ever had a drinking problem. He was too little the first time around. My dad seemingly turned to a workaholic instead of an alcoholic.

Then things took a turn. I was far enough away I didn’t see it happening and also young and self absorbed trying to work my own way through things in my life.

Within a matter of a few years, both of my grandparents passed away. My mom passed away after battling breast cancer several times over many years. While they weren’t married anymore, they never disliked each other (and for that I am grateful). I know that took a toll on my dad. He took a high up position at a different company after having been at one company for the rest of his career. He soon realized it wasn’t as healthy of a company as he thought (or so I was told) and he left the company. Without another job lined up.

What’s a workaholic to do?

Around 2000 there was a beach trip where I realized he was not sober. I’ll skip the details of the situation, I wasn’t there at first so I was told about it by phone. While I was mad about the situation, I was more worried and scared. WE (his whole family) wanted to get him help. After talking to the family that he saw more often we got a picture of how bad things were.

Over the next few years there were several stays in rehab. If you have never experienced someone that is in true detox from alcohol, it’s heartbreaking. I vividly remember talking on the phone to him and he sounded like he had a stroke. He went to the fancy rehab and when that failed and eventually he was forced to try rehab again, he went to the county rehab and later a halfway house. During that time he had an amazing knowledge of pop culture, movies (I remember his verbal review of Napoleon Dynamite), BET on the shared television, stuff that was just not the norm for my dad before that point.

I am grateful for this time though because over those years I talked to him on the phone a LOT. Adult conversations about cooking, travels, emotions, his drinking, my mom, etc. It was back in the days of yore when you paid for individual minutes on cell phones. I had many cell phone bills in the $600 range, but I didn’t care, even being a broke college student. While I knew I was in some way enabling him by answering and having the same phone conversation 19 times (not an exaggeration) in one day, I was scared and worried for him. He was fragile when he was sober. He was an emotional drinker and was very down when he was drinking. I begged him to talk to his therapist about anxiety/depression medication during that time. My brother and I didn’t visit him much during this time. I regret that but at the same time it wasn’t really possible based on his state and wasn’t in our best interest either. We also didn’t really tell anyone outside of his family what was going on. We didn’t want to embarrass him. The stigma is real, even though a lot of those people wouldn’t judge, and loved him dearly. It just felt like something we had to keep private.

He would have periods of sobriety that were wonderful, but they didn’t last.

In September 2004 (I was 24) I was working in racing and traveling every weekend. We shared hotel rooms and cars. We were not able to take weekends off. That’s just how racing is, even today.

I received a call from my uncle that my dad was in the hospital. My memories are hazy about how it all happened but it was something along the lines of he had hit his head and maybe injured his shoulder as well.

By God’s grace we were in Dover, Delaware. My coworkers at the time were kind enough to let me and a friend use one of our vehicles to drive from Dover to Washington, DC. I went in to visit him by myself. He was awake and coherent but not doing well. He was restrained because he kept trying to pull his IV out and get up. I got to spend sometime with him. Not much, but some. It was so hard to leave.

The next week I got a call when I was home in NC that he had a massive heart attack and they were having trouble keeping his blood pressure up. His organs were failing after all the abuse and he was unresponsive and on life support. Things were very bad and my step-mom suggested that if we wanted to say goodbye we should come to DC quickly. I went to my brothers work and told him. I feel sick just remembering that day. We both packed quickly and started the 6 hour drive to DC praying we would make it in time.

You cannot prepare yourself for seeing someone like that. My dad wasn’t there anymore really but just seeing his body on all those machines, anyway…

He was stableish but not responsive I guess. We stayed there all day. But the timing of it all now has slipped away or been blocked out. I know I stayed there on a chair through the night and sometime the next day my step-mom and grandmother forced me to go to her townhouse and take a nap. Later that day we went back and after hearing from the doctor that he was brain dead, my step-mom, my brother, and I made the impossible decision to remove him from life support. We were there with him. He never took another breath when they disconnected the machines.

I often wonder what the hospital staff thought or knew about him in those times. Not that it matters, but they didn’t know the real him or us. He was a well educated, successful man with a wife and children. They couldn’t have know that though. His disease hid all of that. To them he was probably just another drunk.

The next few days as we worked out funeral arrangements and his cremation I felt like I wasn’t living real life, I was walking around in a nightmare.

It was a small service. While he was a hilariously witty, intelligent, just fun, and loving person to be around, his alcoholism the last few years taken a huge toll on his relationships. My step-mom asked me if I would like to talk at the service. I have extreme terror about public speaking but I wrote out what I wanted to say.

I found it this week while I was packing up as we prepare to move. I didn’t read it at the service. I just couldn’t.

I’ll share that now on what would be his 65th birthday.

“I think we can all agree that the last few years have been very trying for our family. I want to look back and remember the happy, silly, and important times with dad…

I want to remember playing dress up.

I want to remember playing board games and going to the children’s book store.

I want to remember beach trips and dad’s special tanning abilities. He had three colors; white, pink, and red.

I want to remember learning most of what I know about cooking, whether it was meatballs or elaborate chocolate desserts.

I want to remember watching dad play with my younger cousins and the infamous “happy feet” game.

I want to remember the cards and flowers that dad sent on every holiday and occasion.

I want to always be grateful for having two parents and three step-parents that always got along.

I want to remember the sacrifice Dad made by letting Carl and I stay in NC, our comfort zone, after mom died.He truly put our needs above his own even though it was so hard for him.

I hope that we are all able to focus on the happy times and funny stories we have. Dad had the gift of a wonderful sense of humor. I think Carl and I both were lucky to have inherited this gift from him and our mom. I know that the humor, happy memories, and wonderful family will be what brings us through the times ahead.”

I apologize for this being so long and sad, but that’s how life is sometimes. As I get older I appreciate the time I did have (even the expensive calls and sad times).

I often dream that he is alive but I can’t get in touch with him. Or if I have a cooking question or recipe that I love, I think for just a second I’ll just call him about it. But then real life hits me.

My point here is this. Alcoholism is a terrible disease. The stigma around it and all addiction make it that much harder.

Twice a week my schedule puts me at a place where I see people leaving an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting. I noticed it right away a few years ago. They don’t necessarily post that’s what is happening (it’s supposed to be anonymous and all) but after living around alcoholism I think I’m just very aware of it around me. I see the cars and I silently cheer those folks on when I see the same cars there. I pray for them, their sobriety, and their loved ones. I kind of want to go in and tell them our story from the side of their loved ones. These are the things you miss if you aren’t here, your grandkids, the weddings of your children… But again, it’s anonymous and I don’t want to intrude. Plus, I would have kids with me, awkward!

Do you know someone that has an addiction problem? While you cannot make them change, I encourage you to tell them how it makes YOU feel and encourage them to seek treatment.

Do YOU have a problem that you need help with? Be brave enough to know it’s OK to ask for help.

I won’t pretend to know how to help, I have lots of sadness, guilt, and anger of my own on not fixing my dad. But I couldn’t. The disease was bigger than him. He couldn’t even fix himself, and he did try. But I’m OK and the happy memories overpower the sadness now.

Addiction doesn’t discriminate. And it’s growing. I fear for my children.

Let’s as a people try to address the stigma surrounding addiction. Let’s talk about it. Let’s support each other. Let’s teach our children.

Here are just a few organizations out there to help. If you know others, please post them too. Maybe just one person needs to see this today.

https://www.celebraterecovery.com/

https://www.aa.org/

Thank you for letting me share.