The Part of Me That No One Knows
I don’t talk about my dad on social media or in real life. At least not in depth. It’s a messy complicated sad story. I’ve always wanted to talk about him, what happened, and why it’s affected me so much but every platform felt entirely too impersonal.
But I WANT to talk about him. I want to stop making the posts and then deleting them a few minutes later. I want people to know about his story.
My dad died of an intentional fentanyl overdose January 10th of 2023. He was 43 years old. I had an extremely complicated relationship with him. Because of that I never felt comfortable talking about it to anyone. It was never as easy as just “my dad passed away”. I still can’t really bring myself to go into detail about my feelings to my own husband.
My dad was in and out of prison my entire life. From misdemeanors to violent felonies. I stayed in his life consistently until I was 16 or so and then I cut off contact. But that ’s not really true.
I told everyone I cut off contact. I didn’t talk about the phone calls I paid for from his cell. I didn’t tell anyone about the long drives I made to visit him. Only the post office knew how many letters we sent back and forth.
When he was out of prison no one knew I paid for his hotels. They didn’t know he was calling me from the 5th phone I had bought him that month. I kept it all hidden. I had two lives. One centered around my dad and my relationship with him and the other one… everything else.
When he passed away people understood my mourning to a degree. As time went on they would be confused as to why I was so deeply hurt. I never gave details on the bad days. A simple, I miss Jody, was enough. No one knew that a huge part of me died with him.
My dad was on drugs his whole life. In fact my mom met him the day he came home from a juvenile detention center. He was 16 when I was born. We fought constantly. But I refused to ever give up or leave him. You can see that in his old posts on social media. “The two people that never turned their back on me, my mom and my daughter”.
I spent countless hours trying to help him get sober. However one day I realized even if he did get sober, he would never be him again.
There are so many specific moments about my life that involve him but instead of getting into the details of that I’ll just say, I never left.
I message him on Facebook every day. I tell him about my day. I tell him about his granddaughter he didn’t get to meet. I tell him about his son who wanted to wait until his birthday in February to surprise him and never got to.
I’ve always openly had two sisters. But I have a brother as well. Michael was named after my dad’s dad. His mom decided to keep him away from my dad and over time she kept him from us too. He turned 18 in 2022 and wanted to surprise my dad and finally meet him on my dad’s birthday in February of 2023. Obviously he didn’t get to do that.
The weeks leading up to my dad’s death were full of sadness,confusion, and pain.
He had been on heavy drugs his whole life and then like a snap, he was sober. Before he was released from his last stint in prison he attempted to take his life two times. No one took him seriously. No one told me.
He came home November of 2022. Imagine waking up after 30 years and realizing your brain is no longer functioning how it used to. Imagine being so intelligent and self aware but living with the sudden onslaught of all the consequences from a past you don’t remember. He would cry in my mawmaws arms, not understanding why so many people hated him. “I’m a person too”.
Christmas Eve of 2022. I went to visit him. He hadn’t seen me pregnant. He was off. He was apologetic about his every move. He couldn’t be comfortable staying beside me. He would leave the room to collect himself and then come back. My forgiveness wasn’t enough. He told me I looked just like my mom did when she was pregnant with me.
When my mom got pregnant she didn’t see my dad until she was around 8 months. She called one day and went to visit him. She says his eyes became so wide when he saw her stomach. He asked if he could feel her belly. He held his hand there and told my mother “I hope she doesn’t get my mental problems”. I did. Bipolar 2, anxiety, OCD, and BPD. Some of those were environmental, one day I might tell my life story.
Eventually I knew he had tried to take his life in prison before he got out. He just needed to wait a few more months and he was going to an inpatient rehabilitation center that would help his mental health and also help him adjust to this new world he came in to.
I hugged him hard, as much as I could with a big pregnant belly between us. I told him I loved him. The last thing I told him was that I needed him. That he couldn’t leave me. I knew about what happened and he had to stay alive.
January 10th 2023 I received those text messages. I have been broken ever since.
My dad went to a dealer he knew. He bought a lethal dose of fentanyl. He went into the bathroom at his parent’s house. He overdosed.
They gave him 4 shots of Narcan. He had several direct lines added to him and they attempted CPR for over an hour. They did everything to bring him back. He didn’t want to come back.
I saw him one last time. On a cold metal bed covered by a sheet. I was told I couldn’t touch him. I collapsed. “You have to stay strong for the baby”. I didn’t feel strong. I still don’t feel strong. No one will ever know what I lost because everyone thinks I stopped being in his life.
I didn’t want to be judged. I wanted to send him his commissary without having prying questions. I wanted to answer his phone calls and excuse myself into another room. I wanted to communicate with his lawyer on how to get him directly into a proper facility.
Some of my best friends know about my relationship with my dad. About 3 of them in total. I will miss him for the rest of my life. The person that was “Jody’s daughter” was lost when he died. He took that from me. The sadness overwhelms the anger because I understand. I don’t know if I could make it in this world if I was in his shoes.
I don’t talk about this. I don’t talk about him. I grieve alone.
I miss my dad. I’m sorry I don’t talk about him. I’m sorry that I lost two people the day he died.
Losing a loved one to addiction can leave an indelible mark on survivors, leading to feelings of isolation and unvoiced grief. This article delves into the harsh reality of coping with loss while navigating a complicated relationship impacted by drugs and mental health issues. Sharing stories of individuals who have experienced similar loss can create a sense of community. Often, grieving families grapple with society's misunderstandings about addiction, creating a stigma that further complicates their mourning process. Research shows over 70 percent of opioid overdose deaths involve fentanyl, emphasizing the urgency for awareness and intervention. The need for emotional support for families affected by substance abuse is crucial; therapy, support groups, and open dialogue can provide healing. The recurring theme of dual lives often seen in these stories highlights the need for understanding and compassion from the wider community. Encouraging conversations about mental health within families can reduce the stigma and encourage those struggling to seek help. Sharing experiences can foster deeper connections and can be a crucial step in healing from such profound losses.
Good evening. I really feel for u. My father committed suicide in 1988. No one knows how hard it is to lose a loved 1 in this manner. The only way I got thru it was a very loving family. No one wants to talk about it because they don't know what time say. I have Bipolar 1, PTSD AND OCD. I WILL pray for ur recovery. I certainly know how it feels when it seems like u have lost urself. In r town, Grants Pass OR; we have groups for suicide survivors. I have recovered alot through Individual and group therapy. U can contact me anytime if u want to share with someone who has been there and still feels the loss all these many yrs later. Keep in mind there is Light at the end of tunnel. Our Lord in Heaven Bless ur journey.