This is an experience record that has been de-identified, risk-screened, and language-edited; the original author's identity, geographic location, or identifiable details are not retained in the text.
I once believed that alcoholism was a great sin
Many family members, including myself, once believed that alcoholism was an extreme irresponsibility toward the family—a great sin, an unforgivable thing. Every time I saw my father come home drunk, or discovered that he had hidden alcohol in some corner again, all that rose in my heart was anger and disappointment. I felt that he was deliberately hurting this family, deliberately embarrassing us. I even thought, if he really cared about us, why couldn't he just quit? This way of thinking lasted for many years, until this August, when everything changed.
That August when he left, I was not yet 20 years old
My father left me forever on August 5th. Because of improper IV treatment at the hospital, and also because of his alcoholism. If he had not been an alcoholic, he would not have fallen ill, would not have gone to the hospital, and would not have had this accident. That year, I had not yet turned 20, and he had never even spent a single cent of the money I earned. For the first time, I understood how unacceptable it is that "the child wants to care for the parent, but the parent is already gone." That feeling is not simple grief, but a deep regret and self-blame, like a stone pressing on my chest, making it hard to breathe.
He was actually an exceptionally warm person
In my 20 years of memories, my father was an exceptionally warm person. From a young age, he gave me whatever I asked for; he would go all over town to buy the food I wanted. When he saw me playing on the computer, he would come over from time to time to refill the empty water glass on my desk. These details, I used to take for granted, but now that I look back, I realize how wholeheartedly he loved me. Yet, before this, I had never forgiven him—because of his alcoholism. Even though his alcoholism began with the trauma of my sister's death from brain cancer. After my sister left, he seemed to become a different person, starting to numb himself with alcohol, and I only saw his change but ignored the pain inside him.
Hiding alcohol, falling, arguing: the family routine of those years
In the wardrobe, in the bedside table, in the trunk of the electric scooter, even in the desk at his workplace—everywhere was where he hid alcohol. He once drank at work and fell into a drainage ditch; it was a kind passerby who pulled him out, which allowed him to live until this year. He passed out drunk at the entrance of the neighborhood, and my mother and I carried him home. Every argument between my parents was about alcohol. These scenes almost became the backdrop of my childhood. But strangely, compared to most people dependent on alcohol, my father's post-drinking behavior was reluctantly acceptable—he did not hit people, nor did he shout or yell. Even when drunk, he still showed gestures of loving me. Once, after getting drunk, he brought back an apple from work, saying it was delicious and he could not bear to eat it, and then, tipsy, he asked me to eat it. That apple was already badly bruised, but when I think of it now, I feel it was his way of expressing love.
After he left, I finally remembered those words
In the month since he left, I have thought a lot. Suddenly I remembered that my father once said to me after getting drunk: "Do you think I want to drink? I simply cannot help it." At the time, I only thought he was making excuses; now I understand that perhaps I wronged him, all those years. Then I began to seriously study alcohol dependence. I realized that alcoholism has never been a matter of willpower; my father was simply sick, seriously sick. How much pain he must have been in—no one understood him, no one tried to understand him; apart from blame and dissatisfaction, he never received a single word of comfort or understanding. As siblings, we often judge from a moral high ground, forgetting to look into the reasons behind it.
If you love him, please take him to see a doctor
If you love your father and hope he can get out of the quagmire of alcoholism and live with better quality, please do not blame him, and do not be filled with only anger. Take him to see a doctor at an alcohol treatment specialty clinic, take him to join AA (Alcoholics Anonymous), and believe that he loves you—as a father, he loves you deeply. I am writing this in the hope that children who read this article can be inspired, not to wrong their fathers, not to only know how to blame and repeat my mistake. If you are going through a similar predicament, you can learn about family support resources, or look at stories from other families, and perhaps find some direction.
Alcoholism is not a willpower problem; it is a disease. Understanding is more useful than blame.