My Dad's Voice

"Hey buddy, it's dad. When you get a moment give your old knucklehead a call, okay? God bless you son."

One of dad’s typical messages. Always beginning with a “buddy”, as if extending a hand to an old friend. Always ending with that 1950s Irish-Catholic ingrained invocation.

Recently, my father died painfully due to COPD complications caused by a life of drug abuse. Among a long list of drugs, he smoked cigarettes and cannabis for some 50 years. His voicemails are now some of the few ephemera I have left of him. However his life lessons survive, and his ultimate suffering woke me up and gave me the kick in the pants I needed to re-focus my life away from a downward spiral.

Dad served his country in the Old Guard, and prided himself on being able to fix any car. At one point he was even doing repair jobs for the Italian mafia. He led a paradoxical existence to the tough guy image he projected. A vegetarian since birth, total health nut, daily meditator, and an environmentalist with a 30+ year EPA career, he constantly sought out two escapes: nature and drugs.

The drugs were the main reason my mom left him when I was still in the womb.

Our eventual relationship formed more like a friendship rather than a patriarchy. We spent time road tripping around California and, as I got older, adventuring further around the country. He would liberally dispense knowledge, not eschewing such subjects as hydrology or labor rights, yet occasionally weaving in snarky wise-guy jokes.

My insatiable wanderlust and curiosity are no doubt partly inspired by this upbringing. But dad’s lifelong disease of drug affliction also influenced me. His Hep C and the long scar on his arm from a needle-induced infection in the 70s helped me keep my distance from drugs and alcohol for a while. College life poked holes in that defense and helped push me to begin my own dance with the devil.

Thankfully, my story is not about a drug-induced leap off of the deep end. At this point I have two degrees from a very respectable university; I have (mostly) maintained employment and have seized a few amazing opportunities, like working at the U.S. Congress and producing a documentary.

So though in general I have been quite fortunate, I’ve also lived through long periods of complacency and made poor decisions while intoxicated. While I have never considered myself an alcoholic, there have been times when I could check off more than one “Is A.A. right for you?” questions. I’ve also allowed myself to get 30 pounds overweight in the past few years due to compulsively eating and binge drinking. And there have been times I would go into a coughing fit in the middle of a smoke…and keep on dragging. When shit hit the fan, or after a stressful day of work, I would blur it out.

Some of you are nodding along and thinking, “Yeah that’s life. You get up, chase the hair of the dog, or put one in the air, wash, rinse and repeat.”

After 10 years of hard partying, I find this lifestyle only produces self-loathing, reduces confidence and drive. Homer Simpson once toasted alcohol as “…the cause of, and solution to, all of life’s problems.” I tried to quit, only to fail, and punish myself by going harder. I would “medicate” to distract myself from depressive thinking. Homer nailed it on the head.

I spent the last few days of dad’s life with him at a hospice in Denver. The world around me blazed in a cloud of weed smoke on April 20, the day he passed. Dad probably would have joked about it being apropos.

Instead, I felt a shift inside.

I made a commitment to give up all my unhealthy habits, and to not drink for at least a year. Eight days later, I had quit smoking, drinking, and vowed to return to a workout regimen, and to eat healthier. Two months later, I have not had a lick of liquor, nor have I lit up. I work out consistently and mostly eat healthier—even going vegetarian one or two days a week. Beyond just feeling healthier and clearer, I found motivation again. This article is a testament to pursuing the passion for writing that I exercised daily more than a decade ago. I have no doubt that this commitment will be hard, but making it publicly might just help.

I know dad would be happy with the way I’ve chosen to honor his memory.

The life I lived is not the one I would actively choose for myself. It was suicide on the installment plan. What I’ve chosen now is something that can lead to a much more balanced, fulfilling life.

I can hear dad’s voice now: "I’m proud of you for your decision. Now you gotta stick to your goals, buddy."

I will, Pa. I will.

Originally published in 2016.