Over the years, I have come to terms with the fact that I am much more like my dad than I ever fancied to be. I say that with all the love in my heart, but the whole point of this blog is for me to be utterly and painfully transparent, so that's what I'm going to give.
My dad's name was Gary Keeling. He was born on the 16th of March in 1969 and he died on July 22, 2022, in a house fire, in the early hours of the morning. The anniversary of his death is coming up soon, and I still frequently forget that he is gone. I think about him at the most random of times. Like when I see an old Chevrolet truck or when I spot something green (his and my favorite color). It's a quick, boisterous realization, like an arrow to my heart. It's also a cold reminder of all the times I felt that same way while he was alive.
He lived in an old church house in Chickalah that was gifted to him by a dear friend of his, who also happened to be the pastor of the Church of Christ that I attended during my youth. Brother Chris was a Godsend to my dad, and I will forever be grateful for the fellowship he provided to him over the several years prior to his death. I believe they became closer friends through attending Celebrate Recovery, an accountability class that Brother Chris held at the Church of Christ in Mount George. My dad was an alcoholic, in case you missed that in my last post. But if you ever knew my dad, then you already knew that. It was no secret.
Up to a certain age, that didn't matter too much to me. I was a smart child. I always knew that he was drinking something that would later make him wobble when he stood and have anyone that was in his presence very aggravated. Even still, I wanted nothing more than to be by his side. I remember a day during the Christmas season - I was probably 9 or 10 years old - and everyone at my grandpa's house was bustling around to get ready for family pictures. My grandparents, my aunts and uncles, my cousins and siblings. All the while, my dad wanted no part in it and was setting out to leave. I was right in tow, without even a second thought. And you know what we did? We went back to his ragged, single-wide rental trailer and we sat there. Ants crawling all over the couch, roaches in the kitchen, and my dad's famous sweet tea in a glass in my hands. I still don't believe that I made the wrong decision.
After my parent's divorce, my dad eventually found love again and remarried. It was doomed from the start. By the time the ceremony was over, they were already fighting. By the time we got back to the hotel room, it was a cry-fest slash brawl. My Aunt Gina saved the day as usual and took us kids off the hands of the newly-weds.
The years carried on, my dad gained 2 more kids and another divorce. Busch Light ultimately became the only one that my dad wanted to spend his days with. After he and my step-mom split, his drinking got much worse. There were an insurmountable amount of nights that he would get slobbering drunk. So many of those times, there were heavy tears, (from him and me), and I would always pray that one of my aunts or my mom would show up to check on us. So many nights spent on my top bunk, scared and alone. Many trips to some random destination with my sister in the driver's seat, and sometimes even me, to get him more of his elixir. The point finally came where the visits to his house every other weekend were not viable.
By age 13, my heart had been broken too many times to count. Watching the person you love the most in the world continually hurt themselves and choose something else over you - I don't wish it upon anyone.
I grieved my dad for so long while he was alive that when he died, I wasn't able to grieve properly.
All of that to say, as I got older, he is the one person I would call when I was in the midst of my own misery. When I was drunk and heartbroken, or when I was cooking something, and I knew he would want the leftovers. When he would call me and I didn't answer, he would call 8 more times and it would infuriate me. The week before he died, Josh and I were in Goodwill, and he called me. I ignored it. He called me 5 more times and I finally answered it - but not very nicely. He made an indirect post about me on Facebook after that. We were truly the epitome of a love-hate relationship, and now every time I pass Goodwill, it's another random moment that I think of him and realize that he's gone. I won't have to worry about 8 missed calls anymore - and that sucks.
The last time I saw my dad before he died was the first time that he had ever been to our new home. When I told him the address before he came, he texted me back and said, "Probably fake." Insert eyeroll. But he got here, and we spent almost two hours together. He was sober, of course. The years of damage had been done and he was to a point where he didn't get "stupid drunk" during the day anymore (his words, not mine). He loved on his grandkids, and we showed him around our land, the pond, the kids took him to their clubhouse. I tried to let him have a close relationship with Raleigh and Bricelyn. When Raleigh was little, I would show up at his house to visit and I quickly learned how dense I was for thinking it would be any different than it had always been. I had been hopeful though, as I had been my whole life. So, I would vet our visits with a phone call ahead of time. If he was slurring his words, I wouldn't even mention coming by. I'd get through the conversation as quickly as possible and go about my day.
I could write a novel about my dad. He was a good person with a bad habit that turned into an addiction. I told you I was more like him than I cared to admit, so I know this firsthand. I lived the life he did for a short period of time and it's a dark and lonely dungeon. When you're there, you can't see what's waiting on the outside. The beautiful faces of the ones that care for you. Eventually, you get more comfortable in the dark.
He loved me. He loved my siblings. He loved his grandkids. We all loved him back. He was a hard worker, and an honest man. He would literally give the shirt off his back to someone in need, but he just could never understand that we were all willing to do the same for him.
If you are struggling with something similar, my advice to you is to learn that you are not responsible for their decisions. Do not try to fill up someone else's cup while they are standing there pouring it out in front of your face. Love them from afar and encourage them in ways that don't affect your mental health. Most, most, most importantly...
Learn from their mistakes and make them proud by being nothing like them.
Sounds harsh, right? Yes, but that's what he always wanted from me.
And if you're on the other side of this seesaw - believe them when they say they love you and want to help you. Love your babies like it's the last day on earth, every day.
Love you the mostest, daddy. Every single second spent with you was worth it all.
Tay ♡
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Yes, when he wanted to talk to you you better answer :). I have some very funny messages from him. He thought my voicemail message was stupid but he always said how will I know you called if u don’t call me back!!