The obituary tells one side of my father. This is another. My story during his final days. Saying Goodbye.
I believe life is meant to be shared. We are only as sick as our secrets. Yet, as humans we are all fallible. No one is without tragedy or sorrow. It is through forgiveness, compassion and grace that one can finally be free of a painful family reality. To know that abuse of any kind does not come out of a vacuum. That any cycle of abuse and trauma can be stopped when it comes out into the light.
I’m not sure if I have the sequence of events exactly as it happened. This seems to be how I remember this story.
Duality
Everyone has two sides.
Who we are to the world verses who we are behind closed doors can be very different.
At home, I crave connection yet am terrified of it.
Ironically, out in the world building connections to people and animals could be considered my super-power.
But, in my closest circle I am terrified of vulnerability.
My seasoned marriage is a mirror of this fear.
I must lower the protective shield around my heart. Doing so will allow me to make sincere and mature efforts to take the necessary actions to meet my husband’s important needs and expectations. This will bring us closer.
I never realized how challenging this was for me.
For decades I struggled with alcoholism and blindly navigated undiagnosed Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD) and Histrionic Personality Disorder (HPD).
Two hallmark symptoms of BPD are lack of a sense of self and abandonment fears. Add to that the HPD symptom of easily suggestible. These DSM – 5 Cluster B Personality Disorder symptoms turned me into an extreme people pleaser who morphed into whatever was needed to keep a relationship happy.
At long last, in February of 2022, I was properly diagnosed with BPD and HPD. Soon after, I participated in Dialectical Behaviour Therapy (DBT) and slowly started to align my life to my values and beliefs.
Since August 1st, of 2023, I’ve had continuous sobriety for my alcoholism, working a spiritual 12-Step Program.
I recently began Cognitive Processing Therapy (CPT) for trauma.
This therapy uncovers “stuck points”. Stuck Points are what I tell myself and the resulting strong emotion when I have a trauma response to an everyday occurrence.
I am now at a point in my healing journey where I can no longer pretend or people please my way through. Or be so numb I feel nothing.
Now I need to maturely and deeply connect and care for my husband’s needs and wants.
Something in my life I’ve never authentically done with another human.
I’ve acted as if. I’ve tried really hard. People pleasers, as I once was are very good at this.
But, it’s rarely authentic. People pleasing is fear based.
True connection with another is built on trust.
Fear and trust, disconnect and connection are my duality.
My father died as a result of progressive cancer on September 18th, 2025.
My father loved horses, all things western, Elvis and turquoise.
My father was also an alcoholic and addict.
He also had two sides, a duality like Jekyll and Hyde.
D-i-v-o-r-c-e
My mother divorced my father when I was seven years old.
Since then I’ve had minimal contact with him.
I never really new him.
What childhood memories I have are like dreams that I can see envision my child-self in. A few are fun, the others are fear when he was drinking and wanting to come back to my mother.
As I grew from child into a teenager, I would occasionally visit him. I have a few, vague memories that seem like a dream. A downstairs room. Western memorabilia lined the walls. A brown recliner.
I do not remember my father attending my high school graduation ceremony. Or maybe I do? Again is this brief memory a dream or a foggy reality?
My older, mid-twenties self has one solid memory of him. He stopped by my apartment for a visit. A green sports car was parked in the driveway. He wore jeans, a turquoise bracelet and ring.
Over the last 10 years, when I did visit my father, I was accustomed to an elderly man with dementia. A happy-go-lucky, boy-like man who remembered me one minute, didn’t the next.
What we had in common was a love of horses and alcoholism.
I have a knowing memory that he had been a one-time member of Alcoholics Anonymous with over 15 years of sobriety.
Sadly though, he eventually started drinking again. Alcoholism is a progressive disease and alcohol eventually took over his life. He was also addicted to prescription opioid drugs and cocaine**.
His dementia a result of severe withdrawal from opioid prescription drugs.**
** Information provided by his on-duty nurse
Reflecting back on him now, he was a childlike man.
A boy in an adult body.
He had a happy-go-lucky kinda vibe, but also a sadness about him. I can now label that sadness as victim mentality.
A Sister
My father eventually remarried and had a daughter.
I was not close to my sister. I was sixteen years old when she was born.
Her growing up with our dad was vastly different than my 0-7 years with him.
My little sister’s life with our father is a tragic story, and hers to tell.
Death Comes Knocking
At the start of September, Aunt Carol, my father’s sister, contacted me to tell me my father was dying. However, she was unsure of how long he had to live.
About a week after that, Aunt Carol contacted me again to say he was worse off then expected.
The next day, I drove to the nursing home he resided in to see for myself.
Sunday, September 7th
My father was in palliative care at a nursing home in Queens County, Nova Scotia.
When I arrived that afternoon, I didn’t know what to expect.
Nurses told me he was could die anytime, any day now.
To me, he didn’t have the “death” look, but certainly was only a fraction of the large man he once was.
I found myself in an emotional place where I needed a plan to figure this situation out. Staff said I could stay the night.
Staying over night was certainly not an option for me or what I wanted to do.
Filled with anxiety but needing a plan, I called my sister.
We arranged to meet the next day at the nursing home and take it from there.
This would be the first time in over 30 years we sisters would see each other.
Time With Him That Sunday Evening
While there with my father I wondered what to say?
He was in and out of consciousness because of the morphine.
His dementia was as to be expected. He remembered me then didn’t. Remembered what I’d said in one minute. Forget the next. He’d have a moment of great clarity. The next, not.
How do I have closure with this man who was my father but never earned the title of “dad”?
How do I have closure with this man who was once a member of Alcoholics Anonymous, relapsed, and never returned while acutely aware of my own history with alcoholism and my current spiritual work within Alcoholics Anonymous’ 12-Step program?
How do I have closure with this man whose dementia was brought about by the serious withdrawal of prescription opioids?
How do I have closure with this man who can barely remember me?
A man who never took an interest in my life; who never made an effort to be my father.
While taking an emotional break at the nurse’s station, I asked questions as tears finally surfaced.
How do I make peace with someone on their deathbed? Especially when there were reasons why I barely visited. A history the nursing home staff were perhaps unaware of.
I was supported and told to say everything I wanted to say so I would regret nothing.
Moments
I returned to his room.
At first, as I sat next to his bed, I felt numb. Unable to come up with anything.
But, the words started to come.
As I stumbled through expressing some hurts, and asked some questions, I sat there holding his leather bound Alcoholics Anonymous (AA) Big Book. Its cover displaying his medallion representing 15 years of sobriety. Inside, the pages clean and bright. No highlighting important paragraphs, no writing along the page borders, no dog-eared corners. Nothing to indicate he had read or used the book. I wasn’t sure what to think, except to make an assumption that this might be an indication of why he went back out to drink and never returned. When someone does not properly work AA’s 12-Step Program, they are at high risk to relapse.
I asked him if he was ready to die. What did he think about dying. His reply was, “I think about it one day at a time”.
During one lucid moment he answered a question I can’t remember asking.
His reply was, ” I never knew how to be a father”.
As I sat there struggling with emotions, he looked and said in a gentle tone, “Easy does it”.
A sudden warmth grew inside my solar plexus as I imagined this was what a father’s genuine love would feel like.
Father to daughter.
Alcoholic to alcoholic.
An authentic, honest, caring parental understanding of my emotional suffering.
Instant thoughts of my little sister and the horrible side of him she suffered flooded me.
How do I make sense of all this?
I didn’t know what to think or feel.
I had to leave.
I told him I loved him, and to hold on (basically, don’t die) until tomorrow.
That my sister and I would be back then.
Monday, September 8th – The Other Truth
This was the day where I saw the other side of our father whom my sister had to live with.
I was aware of her history with him because a few years back, she was brave enough to tell me. At that time, I was in shock. It just didn’t seem possible. I struggled to believe but did so anyway because why would she fake something so horrible?
Then this day, I saw it – the hidden monster.
It was a revealing moment that happened so fast, I’m grateful I was focused enough to witness it.
As mentioned, over the last 10 years, when I did visit my father, I was accustomed to an elderly man with dementia. A happy-go-lucky, boy-like man who remembered me one minute, didn’t the next.
This revealing moment was a side of him I had never witnessed before.
An angry, cruel, intimidating man.
This moment so quick, so random, and so utterly out of the blue.
It happened so fast, it took me a moment to process.
What happened was this:
As my sister and I stood at the foot of his bed, he looked at her.
Then, with a sudden twisted snarl on his face and cruelty in tone that was shockingly unforgettable he asked her, “Is there anything to do in this place” ?
We both kinda froze and went, “H’uh?”
My sister calmly answered him that there was not, then left the room. I stood there in shock.
What had happened in that moment was I bore witness to the cruel, abusive monster my sister called “dad”.
That side of our father I never knew or experienced.
That side of our father he hid from everyone.
The reason why my sister struggled to have family believe her childhood stories of his abuse.
As soon as I clued into what had happened, I ran from his room to find her. To validate her.
I found my sister standing at the nurse’s station, crying. I told her I saw the monster in him. I saw the side of him that he hid from others. I saw it! I saw it!
My little sister was so honourable. So filled with mature grace as she recognized the man laying in the bed dying was no longer the same man who abused her. He could no longer hurt her. She questioned what good it would do to rain her anger down on him for all he had done to her.
I, on the other hand could not let it go.
Both of us returned to his room.
What happened after that is somewhat of a blur as an intense black/red rage towards this man called “dad”, flooded me.
I had to address his abuse to her.
I metaphorically opened the door. My sister bravely walked through.
When she asked if he remembered abusing her, how he treated her – he denied it.
I demanded he apologize to her.
He did – but with little authenticity.
My sister left the room in tears.
I stayed.
I was a mixed bag of so many emotions. Rage. Pity. Anger. Compassion. What do I do or say that I could be okay with after his death? How much anger do I rain down on him for what he did to his daughter. To my little sister.
I know enough to know hurt people, hurt others. Abuse does not happen out of a vacuum. Abusers are typically the victim of abuse.
I thought of Alcoholics Anonymous. My spiritual practice and the program’s 12-Steps. How can I expect forgiveness from others if I cannot forgive.
As an alcoholic who will always be one drink away from prisons, institutions or death, I wanted to offer my father some peace.
One alcoholic to another.
A daughter to her father.
I had to be willing to forgive him because of my own experience with the insidious, cunning, baffling and powerful nature of alcoholism.
As Alcoholics Anonymous’ Big Book says on page #58:
Rarely have we seen a person fail who has thoroughly followed out path. Those who do not recover are people who cannot or will not completely give themselves to this simple program, usually men and women who are constitutionally incapable of being honest with themselves. There are such unfortunates. They are not at fault; they seem to have been born that way. They are naturally incapable of grasping and developing a manor of living which demands rigorous honesty. Their chances are less than average.
My father was one of these people.
Therefore, I had to offer him peace.
Some AA meetings close with the “Lord’s Prayer”. I thought about how this familiar prayer can bring me peace.
So, I sat next to him, held his hand with the missing finger and we recited the “Lord’s Prayer” together.
It felt like the right thing to do.
After that, while feeling numb, I walked out of his room to find my sister.
We decided this visit would be our day to say goodbye.
Final Goodbyes
So, there we sisters stood in his room, side-by-side.
I, the sister who grew up abandoned by our “dad”, she the sister who received his cruelty and abuse.
It was a lot to process.
A lot to take in.
Especially after the moments I had with him the night before.
As we stood by his bed, I knelt and said my goodbye. What I wanted most for him was peace. I didn’t tell him I loved him then because I was once again flooded with conflicting emotions. When my sister said her goodbye, she told him she loved him in her heartfelt way. I softened and did the same when she finished, so I would leave without regret. Selfish? I’m not sure.
Afterwards, as we stood in the parking lot, each in our own daze and confusion, my sister told me she felt like her “big sister” stood up for her when I demanded he apologize to her.
Me, the one who second guesses most things I do as wrong, felt as if I had finally done something right.
Because in the recent past, I had not been able to be a big sister to her when she needed help because I was drowning in my own mental health struggles.
This day, I could. I think I explained this to her. Or I thought it. I can’t remember.
Still, a wave of clarity filled me. I felt grounded in my true self.
I felt a freedom that is difficult to describe.
My sister and I left the nursing home and went for lunch.
We were both emotionally overwhelmed and completely drained.
Over crispy lobsters rolls and soggy pie, we two sisters sat together.
Each, in our own way, very isolated and alone.
But now connected. Together.
A blessing out of the approaching death of our father, who died peacefully during the early hours of Thursday, September 18th, 2025, 10 days after our visit.
S, 🌻
I am so incredibly proud of you for the immense courage it took for you to go see your father and feel those very raw and difficult feelings. I’m also so sorry for your loss, whatever that means for you, in this moment. I understand what it means to forgive someone, both for them and for yourself. When my own father was in palliative care and dying from Cancer, I remember your father coming to see him, to say goodbye perhaps. I remember his turquoise jewelry and how he easily joked with my Dad, who was days from his own death. He offered to give my Dad a shave and wash his hair and my father looked so thankful and at ease. I then witnessed a quiet act of compassion and grace amongst these two old ‘partners in crime.’ That is how I will remember your father and that is also how I saw the vulnerability of my own father. The healing is in the recognition that there are things you will always carry and that you are not alone.
Love you longtime BF…. ~PN xoxo
My dear Stephanie, I am so very proud of you and all the strength you have shown during these difficult days. Your journey was a difficult one with some heart felt moments as well. Now be kind to yourself as you heal the memories of days gone by. You are going to be OK! love you lots mama…xoxoxoxo